Soulless
by newdisaster77
Summary: Everyone blamed Peter Pettigrew for the events of the War. But not Hermione. She could only think on the crimes of Barty Crouch Jr. Unsatisfied with a simple dementor's kiss, she goes to Azkaban to end his life forever. But what does she do when he's not as empty as she thought?
1. Chapter 1

Barty Crouch Jr.

It was his fault. Through the War, we would usually curse Peter Pettigrew. How he had betrayed his friends. How his cowardice had resulted in the death of James and Lily Potter. How his fear had driven to help the Dark Lord rise to power once more.

But always in my mind was the memory of a lie. Barty Crouch Jr. had used the lie of his face to get Harry just where the Dark Lord needed him. Without Barty Crouch, Pettigrew's efforts would have been in vain. Without Barty Crouch, the Dark Lord would have remained helpless and fragile. Without Barty Crouch, so many wonderful people would not have died.

I had never seen what the bastard looked like, as Polyjuice potion had kept him under the safety of Alastor Moody's appearance, but his deeds had earned him a less than flattering image in my mind.

He would be as disgusting as the potion he had drank. His skin would be oily and his hair would be as long and ragged as Greyback's, and greasy too. His eyes would be as black as the mark on his arm. He was heavy in my mind, like a troll. His teeth would be rotten like him. His nose would dominate his face unnaturally, and his mouth would constantly be twisted into a maniacal grin. His face would be covered in craters. Everything about him would look just as absolutely insane as he was.

The picture would get worse and worse. It was becoming extremely exaggerated.

So anyone could imagine my surprise when I turned around after quietly shutting the door to his cell and faced the man that was the center of all my rage. Anyone could imagine my surprise to find not a revolting soul ridden pig, but a man.

Barty Crouch Jr. was skinny. Dreadfully so, no doubt due to the effects of Azkaban. He had short, brown hair, currently going in all different directions, but predominantly hanging to cover his brow. His hands hosted long, almost graceful looking fingers.

It was his face that shocked me most. He looked…pleasant. On the street, though I was trying to deny it, I would have pegged him as a rather attractive man and snuck a second glance. Underneath the dirt of his prison cell was an almost boyish face. I could see freckles on his cheeks and nose—a nose which was pointed and complimented his features, including his thin mouth and prominent bottom lip.

It was then that I came to his eyes and my blood ran cold. Because they were not gray and soulless like I had read they should be when a soul is sucked from a person by a dementor. Barty Crouch Jr.'s eyes were a deep, chocolate brown. And those deep, brown eyes were looking right at me.


	2. Chapter 2

It was incredible how in a single moment all of my plans dissipated into nothing. All of my years of running, chasing Horcruxes, and fighting Snatchers had suddenly vanished and left me with no experience. Even my battles against Death Eaters had abruptly gone from my mind.

All it had taken was looking at those eyes.

Crouch was lying on his side on a cot, and though he seemed consciously aware of me and everything around him, he did not move at all. His body never flinched. I could not even see him breathing.

I had not moved either, and I wondered if perhaps what I had read was wrong (it would not be the first time, though it would again challenge my faith in texts) and that their eyes just seemed empty in comparison to before their souls were taken from them. Perhaps his eyes were always looking at the door.

Slowly, I removed my wand from my sleeve. I had to do this. I wasn't sure quite _why_ I had to, yet I was completely sure. I needed to do this. I would do it right then and there. I pointed my wand at him.

Then Crouch's mouth opened slightly and, instead of doing anything relatively intelligent, I gasped and my wand faltered.

And then, the man I knew to be a soulless body spoke. And he didn't just speak. He said my name.

"Hermione Granger."

My resolve, my fierce determination, was diminishing. Hearing my name slip from his lips was not something I was prepared for. Of course, I wouldn't be. He was supposed to be, for all intents and purposes, dead.

And coming from the mouth of a murderer, and a completely insane one at that, I did not expect his voice to be so steady.

"How do you know me?" I heard myself say, pointing my wand at him again.

He raised an eyebrow at me and sat up. I watched him carefully, looking around for anything he could use as a weapon before looking back at him.

"You forget I was your teacher for a year."

Right. That was why I was here in the first place.

"How? How are you…" I failed to find a word.

"Alive?" he finished. His face remained completely impassive, as if it was a usual thing for people to burst in on him. "Azkaban's best kept secret. Actually, the Wizarding World's best kept secret."

"Your soul…it was taken." I stumbled, hating myself.

"Who said so?"

I struggled to remember, "Professor McGonagall. Cornelius Fudge."

"McGonagall was there long enough to see the dementor begin the process before she pranced off to her precious Dumbledore—"

"You watch it!" I interrupted him and held my wand up straighter. Crouch sat on his bed and leaned his hands down into the mattress on either side of him, like he was holding himself up. His tongue darted out to lick his lips briefly.

"Oh that's right," he narrowed his eyes at me, "he's dead now."

"Yes, just like you will be. Very soon," I told him and lifted my chin, trying to appear confident.

Then his mouth curved into a sinister smile. I remembered thinking he had looked boyish at first. Now I saw him for the man he truly was. His grin was absolutely terrifying and yet I knew in another life it would have been counted as almost sexy. To me, it was repulsive.

"You've come to kill me, Hermione?" he asked and rolled his head back to assess me from another angle.

"You don't deserve to live."

"You came here to kill a soulless man, who has long since paid his debts, and I am the one who does not deserve to live?"

"You tortured Frank and Alice Longbottom into madness."

"Yes, I did," he confirmed.

"You spent a year posing as Alastor Moody, while keeping the real man locked in a trunk, only opening it to occasionally keep him barely alive and rip chunks of hair from his head."

"This is correct."

"You killed your own father and transfigured him into a bone and buried him," I reminded him.

"Gladly." He said, his tongue licking his lip again.

"You let your own mother die for you in—"

"Don't you bring my mother into this!" he shouted at me, his face transforming into a fearsome glare. Accidentally, I stepped back against the door. My wand held firm, but his sudden anger was frightening.

"Touchy subject?" I tried to taunt him.

He glowered at me and then stood up. I noticed that he wore no shoes and, for some reason, it made him more human to me. He was wandless, I knew, but that would not stop him from choking the life out of me. I prepared to jinx him in any way possible.

Then he was walking towards me slowly. As if he knew how absolutely intimidating his actions would be, he walked ever so slowly. It was incredibly dramatic. But it was working, because my heart had begun to drum loudly in my ears.

"You were so smart, Hermione," Crouch started, "you probably still are. You can recall things that people forget after a moment. You really were a joy to teach. I barely had to teach you. You were brilliant, you were."

I felt a lump in my throat. It had been years since anyone had called me brilliant.

He smirked, "And you know what? So was I. In school, I was just like you. Severus hated me, you know. I beat him at everything. He had set records for his class and then I would come in behind him and break his records. It infuriated him. When I saw you, you reminded me of myself. You were so eager to please. I was that way too."

"We are nothing alike." I said, but it was barely over a whisper. He was so close now. Only a few more small steps and he would be touching my wand, which had started to retreat.

"We're more alike than you know," he smiled at me. I grimaced to see his teeth were perfect, "Gods, you were so brilliant in classes. But, looking at you now, I am second guessing myself."

He was getting closer.

"You've come here with the assumption that you are justified in killing me. But let's assess that, shall we, Hermione? You came here to kill a defenseless and practically dead man. You talk to me as if my actions deserve death. But, surprisingly, you haven't done your research. You're a rather empathetic person, if I remember. You care for people. Yet, you've come to take the life of a man you know nothing about. A man whose life you caught the tail end of. Did you even consider how I got here, Hermione? No, of course not, because I am vermin next to you. You think of yourself so highly that you think it is completely ok for you to sneak into my cell and murder me."

"I didn't…" I stuttered, but went silent as he bravely stopped walking just in time for my wand to touch his chest. His hands came up then and, again, all my instincts failed me. Luckily, they went to my hand rather than my neck or to bash my skull against the door. He enclosed my hand in his own two hands, his skin freezing compared to mine. He looked right into my eyes. Oh, he was so incredibly close.

"You know what I think?" he whispered to me.

He fearlessly placed my wand directly under his chin.

"You don't know anything."

My breathing was heavy and ragged as we both stood there a moment, his hands enveloping my wand hand, the tip poking at his chin. We stared at each other for ages. His face had become that impassive mask again, and as he no longer looked like a madcap killer, I could not help but see how damned intelligent his face was. His eyes were dark, but they were communicating years of knowledge beneath them. His face was practically flawless. He had to be forty years old, but there were no lines on his face at all. Not even around his eyes. His cheekbones were beautiful and it was clear he had his jaw clenched. I pushed down bile as I realized that, if I had not known, he would be attractive to me. More than attractive. I felt sick at the thought, but with every passing moment, my eyes would not drag themselves away from his.

I couldn't tell how long I had been standing there just staring at him. I had lost track of time.

Then, suddenly, he pushed my wand from his chin roughly and his mask shattered and his face almost broke. His mouth erupted into a maniacal, teeth-baring grin and his eyes shot wide open. He looked absolutely psychotic.

"Run, Hermione," he said quietly at first, his voice taking a higher pitched tone. Then he laughed and ordered me again:

"Run Hermione! Run as fast as you can!" he cackled and I did not need to be told again. I turned from him (an utterly foolish rookie mistake, but he did not seem to want to take advantage of it), making the door recognize my wand signature to let me out before flinging it open and running as fast as possible down the hallway and out into the regular lobby of the prison.

I looked back to see if I had accidentally set him free, but I doubted suddenly that, even if he had had the chance, he would not have escaped just then.

I was hyperventilating and unexpectedly began sobbing, and I found myself collapsed against a wall.

He was right. I knew absolutely nothing. I knew nothing about killing a person. I had come to the prison with the intent to prove to myself that I really could take a life and had chosen Crouch as a man who obviously deserved it.

Or so I had thought.

He was right. I knew nothing.

But Barty…Barty knew everything. And even as I sat, weeping on the floor and petrified out of my mind, I knew that a twisted desire to know what he knew would soon consume me.

I stood up and resigned to go home and sleep.

But I would be back.

And I would have bet all the money in the world that Barty would be waiting for me.


	3. Chapter 3

It took two hours for a Ministry official to arrive at my house. I was honestly surprised at the delay.

I was about to be carted off. Where; I was not sure. But I had broken into Azkaban and into a cell. My intent to kill the prisoner was unknown, but I was sure I was still breaking some sort of law.

The knock on the door was pleasantly polite. I opened it the same way to my very flustered looking friend.

"Harry?"

"Hermione, can I come in?" he asked, looking rather embarrassed.

"Well…of course!" I greeted him. He nodded and walked past me. I began to feel relief; they were not onto me yet.

"Did you want tea?"

"No I…" Harry began, but then stopped, "actually yes I would like some. Thank you." He took his usual chair, but looked like he was in a foreign home. It was if he'd never even been in my flat before.

Of course, my brain did not realize exactly why he was so uncomfortable until he abruptly spoke as I handed him his tea.

"You went to Azkaban."

My God—they had sent my best friend to arrest me.

"Yes, I did." I told him honestly.

"You went into the Dementor Wing."

"Yes, I did," I answered again, "Harry, am I in trouble for that?"

"Well," he started and then paused a great while. I held my breath for at least ten seconds, but one can only stand so much silence.

"Harry?"

"Well, not in trouble, no," he said.

I let out a great sigh.

"I was sent here on Ministry business to investigate, however."

Harry's face was very serious, so I nodded and tried to act as if I wasn't panicking, "Investigate what?"

"For one, you sort of…snuck in. You never signed in at the front desk."

I said nothing and he knew I meant for him to get it all out.

"That alone would usually prompt banishment from the premises. Also, you went into the Dementor Wing. As you know, that Wing is strictly forbidden to any visitors unless there is written permission by a Ministry official or one in involved in some sort of…research. Again, it would have to be allowed by a very high-ranking Ministry official. That can lead to some very serious charges in a regular case."

I took a deep breath and swallowed hard, "I'm not being arrested by you, am I?"

He took a sip of his tea and looked up at me. In that moment, I recognized the age in his eyes. Here he was, barely twenty-three and yet his face betrayed him and made him look as if he had lives hundreds if not thousands of years. He had seen so much in such a short amount of time. The period in his life where a boy was to become a man and needed coddling and support was never granted. In fact, the opposite had happened. His best friend had turned on him in fourth year, everyone called him a liar that year and the next, his mentor and counselor had been murdered in front of him (as well as his godfather, former professor, and so many friends), and all before he had turned seventeen. Not to mention his initial childhood.

Harry was so old. He needed rest. However, he had yet to grasp enough time to do so.

"No," he responded, "I'm not here to arrest you. I came to tell you myself that the Ministry has turned a blind eye to your infraction."

Lungs are a funny thing, because as I let out a very heavy sigh, I became completely aware of their existence. I felt them in my chest, protected by my rib cage.

"That is very kind of them," I decided to say, and sat down comfortably in the chair across from him.

"It doesn't hurt that you're Hermione Granger, the highly regarded Charms professor," Harry smiled, "or that you're considered a war hero. Definitely helps to have me ready to come and ask you about it so I can explain it all away because they would trust me with the last unicorn."

We shared a laugh and he swallowed his tea down, smiling as he looked back up at me.

"Plus, there is no tarnish to your record at all," he continued, "I mean, school obviously. But Dumbledore was always very…talented at forgiving our transgressions as they would normally result in the defeat of some dark witches or wizards unknown. Outside of that there is nothing. Not the slightest blemish and there's not even a single Unforgivable on the—"

He stopped himself immediately and his face morphed into a stunned expression before he cleared his throat and looked at the floor.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he stuttered a bit, "I didn't mean to bring that up. I was just saying…" he trailed off.

When Harry looked back up at my face, I knew what he was going to see. He would see me with a small smile on my face. It would be forgiving to counteract his pleadingly apologetic look. Inside, however, my stomach felt like there was a cauldron boiling over, its contents spilling onto my inner workings and poisoning every last bit of me.

It was then that I remembered why I had gone to Azkaban in the first place.

"It's ok Harry," I tried to comfort him.

As if on cue, he tried to distract me with the reason I had just recalled myself, "Why _did_ you go to Azkaban? Why that Wing?"

Pushing the poison back down, I simultaneously pushed my luck, "Would it not have told you what cell I went into as well?"

"The man I talked to who represents the prison said that they don't really monitor individual cells," Harry explained, "at least, not in that Wing. I understand; what's the point in worrying? Those people are, sadly, worse off than dead. They don't really need so much surveillance."

I was inclined to disagree with him. How many other cells were hosting men who were as alive and well as the man I had visited yesterday?

Quickly, I had to think up an excuse, so I stalled, "Well, why were they worried about that Wing?"

"The men are defenseless. Mr. Ortho was very clear on that being the reason they were so…worried about an unauthorized guest being there. Unfortunately, they can be taken from their cells rather easily. Though there is no point to it, it can happen. Plus, as living bodies, they still have the rights of protection under the Azkaban contract. If some vengeful person were to barge in and humiliate their unconscious person or even kill them, it would violate their rights."

With everything in me, I hoped my mask was not failing me.

"I see the reason for concern."

"That is why, in exchange for throwing you in there yourself for violating it," Harry smirked at my rebellious action, "Mr. Ortho asked that I 'interrogate' you to find out who you went to see."

"Why is there concern at all?"

Harry stopped smirking, "You were crying in the lobby."

I nodded, "Yes, that."

"So?"

"So…"

"Why?"

Luckily, my brain went on overdrive and I found my answer.

"I went to see…I went to see Lucius Malfoy."

Harry looked immediately confused, "Malfoy?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

I pretended to act mildly offended, directing my gaze away from him, "I…I would rather not say."

"Hermione, I have to know at least a bit," Harry argued, "you didn't even get an escort. That would have been an absolutely harmless thing, and no doubt the guard would have given you…privacy if you had needed it."

"Well isn't it obvious, Harry?" I, again, acted completely appalled at his obliviousness to my supposed reasoning.

"No, not really…"

"I was ashamed!"

He paused, "Ashamed?"

"Yes, ashamed! It's horrible; what happened to him was totally an unfair ruling by the Ministry. That alone had stirred up that…rebellious notion to sneak in originally. But to have to face someone and admit that I felt guilty over…Lucius Malfoy?" I sighed dramatically, and lay back on the chair, "I felt utterly humiliated at the idea. I supposed my pride got the best of me."

"Hermione Granger? Prideful?"

"I just…I feel horrible about what happened to him and I wanted to apologise. It won't happen again. And next time I'll take a guard."

"I just do not understand why you did that in the first place, really," Harry half-smiled, "they would let you have run of the place if you asked."

"Well, not anymore," I joked.

"Do you actually plan on going back?"

My face twitched with a hint of resentment. I didn't want to go back there. I just didn't.

"I don't know," I said, "it was rather…therapeutic for me. It may not be out of the question."

"I would talk to Mr. Ortho," he suggested, "he might be willing to let you have some sort of pass if it becomes a regular visit."

He cleared his throat again and leaned towards me, "Actually, there is something of a secret about Azkaban."

I felt blood start to rush to my face, "What is it?"

Harry grinned deviously, "Azkaban has no other security measures than dementors and walking guards. The only reason anyone knew you were even there was because a guard saw you in the lobby."

Relief poured over me a bit, "Why is there not more? There are highly dangerous criminals in there!"

"There is no need. The criminals are completely subdued by the dementors. It's like it used to be before Voldemort started to come back into power. It's a fortress. No one is coming to break anyone out and the dementors are loyal to the Minister. Basically, the only alarms that go off are in response to cells opening without permission."

"Except in the Dementor's Wing?"

"Right."

"That's…nervewracking."

"It's been that way since the day after Voldemort died," Harry seemed to look a little younger for a second, "and no one has broken out since. Seriously, talk to Mr. Ortho about it next time you go there."

"Yes," I nodded at him, "I _will_ do that."

"How is he?"

"How is who?"

"Lucius," Harry clarified, "how does he look?"

"Um…ask me later. I'm still a little…shaken up, I guess." Very quickly, I changed my posture and my face and smiled, "so how is Luna doing?"


	4. Chapter 4

"You're back."

He was sitting up when I walked in. If I was to be honest with myself, he looked like a child. He was sitting cross-legged on his cot, his back against the wall, with his hands in his lap. His long fingers were interlaced. His head was bowed slightly and his hair fell in his face.

Like the time before, I forgot exactly who he was and what he done for a moment. Crouch looked absolutely helpless, like a kindergartner waiting patiently for his mother to pick him up at the end of the day.

Then I realized that that was exactly what he had been doing. He sat there, and perhaps he had sat like that every day since last time, waiting for me to return.

"Don't act surprised," I challenged him.

Crouch grinned and lifted his head and the little child dissolved into the mad man.

"You have too many questions," he deduced, "despite my warning, I knew curiosity would drive you back."

"You don't want me here."

"Of course I do."

I scrunched my face in mild disgust, "Why?"

"Oh come on," he giggled, and it was actually a rather agreeable sound, "I've been in this prison for two years shy of a decade. I'm rather bored. You don't think it is completely mundane for one of my former students to burst in here and telling me she is going to kill me, do you?"

"Well, no."

"Besides, I wanted you to come back."

"Why?" I asked again.

His eyes went wide as did his smile, "I have too many questions."

He looked completely insane, his eyes open farther than I would have guessed possible, and his grin bared his surprisingly white teeth to me. Barty's expression was manic, but at the same time, I was distracted by the agelessness of him. His face did not betray his age at all. Now, even smiling so wide, his face simply complimented him. His eyes and mouth showed only laugh lines, but no permanent wrinkle or crease. The moment he would stop his intense expression, I knew his face would go back to being a perfectly porcelain mask.

"Who says I am going to even talk? I came here to kill you."

I was right. His face went back to an indifferent expression and he was instantly flawless. He raised an eyebrow and frowned.

"You would have done it already."

"Well, like you said, I have questions."

"So do I."

"What does that matter?"

"Are you saying that you get to ask your questions, but I am not worthy to hear your blessed answers to mine?"

"You're not worthy to breathe air."

He sighed and lie down on his cot, throwing one arm over his stomach and the other supporting his head, "I thought we agreed that you had no right to judge me."

"We did not agree on anything," I came back, rather loudly. I was getting angry at his attitude. He didn't have the right to speak to me this way, nor did he have the right to say that I was not worthy of slaying him. I was damned worthy. He was responsible for the death of so many: Tonks and Professor Lupin, Fred, and inadvertently Professor Snape as well. There were so many more. I refused to think about them anymore.

For a second, I considered just killing him. Right now, in his cell, he would just die. Who would care? Sure, Crouch was alive and obviously Azkaban was keeping that on the level. So who would know? Maybe three people would know, but I wondered if they would care. I looked at the lanky man before me. How could they bother with him at all? He was supposed to be dead anyways, so why were they keeping him alive?

"Now you listen!" I said after a while, "You're going to answer my questions and you're going to do it now!"

"Why?"

"Why what?" I snapped.

"Why should I? Give me one reason why I shouldn't just sit and stare at you blankly like you thought I would be doing when you walked in here?"

"I could kill you," I replied.

"But you won't," he grinned but then laughed lightly, "at least not yet."

My face went hot; he was partially right; what was his motivation to answer me? He was _bored_. He would want to draw this encounter out as long as possible. I needed something to trade.

"What do you want?"

"I'm sorry?" He lifted his head up from the cot.

"What do you want? I want you to answer my questions. What do _you _want?"

Crouch began to laugh, a little harder than usual. It was a genuine laugh, his eyes crinkling in amusement, and then he very quickly stood up from his bed. His demeanor was fading into something incredibly opposite from amused. He was turning into the monster I'd seen just before I ran screaming last time. I stood my ground. He wasn't going to intimidate me again.

"Ms. Granger," he snarled, "you're willing to offer me something for mere answers?"

I glowered at him, "Don't act so shocked."

"I'm not," he laughed, but it was sinister now; threatening, as he changed his expression to mock innocence, "but you asked me what I wanted in exchange." He was walking again, too, slowly, "Did you ever consider what I might want? What I might ask for?" He drew closer. Crouch reminded me of a shadow. He was so small, but he was engulfing my vision with his tall figure and seemed to be gliding rather than walking.

My face was burning then, and yet rage was making my cheat and lungs feel like ice, "I am not…what do you…I didn't…"

Without warning, he lunged forward and pulled me to the side so that he could pin me against the wall. His hands were strong on my forearms and his face was too close for any sort of decency. I forced my face not to betray the fear that I was experiencing as I recognized the mania in his expression. He was not smiling at all anymore, no trace of delight left. He looked like an animal that had caught his prey and was basking in the victory. His body was not touching mine, other than his hands, but his stance was hostile and encasing.

"What if I was a different man? What if I wanted some sick, sexual favor? What then? I could make you strip for me, if I so wanted. Could make you let me touch you. Get you to suck me off."

My resolve crumbled under his crude words and I let out a hitched breath matched with a whimper in one breath.

"And you might actually consider it," he continued, squinting his eyes and cocking his head to the side, "maybe not at first, but you would cave eventually. Because your brilliant mind could justify it. -Because you would go mad never getting the answers. So you would have the most incredible mental debate in your head, but in the end you would find reason to agree to it. You would make it impersonal in your head; devalue your body as a temple and consider it simply a casing of organs and blood. All for answers, you would even go so far as you to fuck me. All I have to do is…ask."

I let out a tiny shriek, "I would never—"

"Neither would I."

The fear dissipated, only to be replaced by an intense rush of confusion and general surprise. Had he just said, admitted, that he would never ask that of me? Was he implying that he was a decent man? He did say at the beginning if he were a 'different man'. Was he truly saying that he would never consider asking me to do anything sexual? From his language, it even sounded like he would never ask for anything so _demeaning_. Or perhaps, and it was more likely that, he was repulsed by me sexually.

"Now, we could keep doing this," he breathed out in a whisper, "you threatening to kill me and then my retaliating with cheap fear tactics. But then neither of us will get what we want: answers. I thought it would be a bit of fun to terrorize you, but then we would get nothing accomplished and I realized last time that I had a goal now. You've given me something to do. If you and I keep this charade up of you trying to put my life in your hands and me pretending that I might do something revolting to you, we'll never be satisfied."

He lowered his arms and stood up straight, looking down at me, his eyebrow raised. He was so tall.

"So what do you say to this? Every day you came back here. I don't care when—I'll be awake. Each day, we get two questions. One is general. The other is personal. When we are both satisfied, and I mean _both_ of us, you get to kill me."

I was taken aback, "I what?"

"Well," he darted his eyes away a second, "you get to decide either to kill me," he turned back and met my eyes, "or kiss me."

My face displayed my disgust at the notion, "I can tell you my choice right now."

"No," he argued, "not until we are both happy in our answers. Only then do you get to make your decision."

I went through his deal carefully. One general question and one personal question; that seemed fair.

"How do I know you'll tell me the truth?"

"I could easily ask the same of you," he challenged, "what solution do you suggest?"

I wracked my brain to think of something to assure our (but really his) honesty. Veritaserum was out of the question. It was so complicated to make and it did not produce enough for the span of time this could cover.

There really was only one solution, but I was hesitant to suggest it. However, I doubted he would know that it was technically illegal.

"I know a spell," I began cautiously, "that they use in court to ensure honesty. It's like an unbreakable vow, except that if a person lies, it causes them physical pain. The pain is minor, but it is enough to cause a visible disturbance in whoever is being tried and discourages repeated dishonesty. It is developed to target certain areas of the body, rather than all of it, so that the subject cannot prepare or get used to the pain."

Crouch let out a small laugh, "Why Ms. Granger, it is my understanding that that spell is a highly classified and, if I am not mistaken, illegal for public use. The list of people permitted to perform it is very short."

I smirked, a bit arrogantly, "It isn't forbidden if you're the one that invented it." I crossed my arms smugly.

"You developed a way of torture, and you think we're so different," Crouch was not smiling at all. His face was riddled with accusation.

I glared at him, "It's not torture! It was a measure needed to ensure truth. Veritaserum rids you of your rights. My spell gives you the option to lie. It is more humane!"

"You inflict pain. They are not subjects. They are victims."

"They are not! And you're one to talk," I tried to change the subject, "I've never tortured someone into insanity!" I pushed lightly on his chest, trying to move him away from me. I had suddenly realized that I had a psychopathic killer in front of me; I should not have let him get this close in the first place.

"But what of people on the stand who had nothing to do with the crime? What do they do?"

"Innocent people have nothing to hide."

"Oh, Hermione," Crouch looked at me with a slight condescending smile on his face, as if I was a naïve child, "no one is innocent."

I pushed down the undeniably volatile thoughts. If I said them, there would be an argument of proportions I was not in the mood to face. So instead, I decided to end the brewing conflict.

"Just stop it, Crouch!" I spat at him and pushed his shoulders.

"I accept your proposal, though," he grinned and bent down to put his face far too close to mine, "if only to watch you writhe in pain when you lie."

Finally, I pushed with enough force to make him stumble back and let me slip through to the wall adjacent the door, "I have no reason to lie."

He was standing straight again, if not a little leaned back, "Oh yes you do," he countered, "and I can assure you, I will find that reason."

"Good luck," I looked away from him and mumbled, scowling. What could he possibly ask me? Nothing; even if he asked me filthy, crass inquiries, he'd be sorely disappointed in the lack of vulgar details I would have to offer.

Briefly, I recalled how he had said he was a different sort of man. Yet, just there, he had implied pleasure out of watching me in pain. It was like there were multiple facets to the man. It was irritating.

"We start tomorrow," he finalized, and walked back to his cot, "I think we've engaged in enough foreplay for today."

I held my tongue, knowing he wanted to bother me. I walked calmly to the door, but turned back to face him as he sat down on his bed.

"If you think it will be an actual debated decision in the end, you are more of a madman than I could have possibly imagined."

"Well," he rubbed the back of his head, spiking his hair a bit, "whether you kill me," he pulled his shirt over his head and I averted my eyes and glowered at the floor, "or kiss me," I accidentally scoffed, "there is one thing you need to do first."

I looked up at him, trying not to notice his naked and, surprisingly, toned chest and stomach. I hated him all the more for it; he had the chance to work out and get his body into shape. While he grew strong, my friends were lying in a grave. I felt like I was going to vomit.

"What's that?" I asked through clenched teeth.

"It's not Crouch," he said, his face stern, "it's Barty. I hope you will respect my desired title."

He rolled over on his side to face the wall and I found myself dismissed. Stunned, I let out a loud laugh before turning to the door.

"You think I would ever extend you any courtesy? You _are_ bloody insane!"

The door opened and I bolted out, making sure to sneak myself out of the prison. I encountered no one, luckily, and made it out just in time to catch the moon over the water. It was rather beautiful. I grabbed my broom from out of its hiding spot along the wall, already invisible to anyone but me. I cast a Disillusionment spell on myself as well and sped off towards home.

As I passed over the spectacle of the moonlight and the glow of the city, I let out a laugh mad enough to rival Crouch's.

I was free; free to do whatever I wanted and to see whatever I wanted. He would rot in his jail cell for the rest of his life.

No matter how this all came out, I would always win. Always.


	5. Chapter 5

I woke up the next day and was immediately ashamed of myself. I found myself anxious, practically excited, to return to Azkaban.

With school not in session, my summer had appeared terribly boring. It was to be a repeat of the past several years, with me taking on a summer project, such as inventing a spell or enhancing a potion or learning about more history regarding the Wizarding community. However, I hadn't even begun to consider what I would do this time.

Then, on 2nd May, 2003, I found a summer project. It was while everyone was celebrating the anniversary of our victory. As Harry toasted to the life we lived, asking us all to say a moment of silence for our fallen friends, it hit me. I remembered how it was all _his_ fault. Pettigrew be damned, none of it would have happened without Crouch. As I sat there, simmering with my newfound rage against him, I began to form a plan.

I had given myself a mission. I was going to kill Barty Crouch Jr.

A soulless body would have attracted no attention at all. Their bodies died faster than living beings, so a sudden death was to be expected. That was simple. All I had to plan was to not get caught going in or leaving once it happened.

Yet now, I had a true challenge. Crouch, no matter how much I hated him and was undeterred in my plan to kill him, had given me something more. It was new and unpredictable. It was invigorating.

I removed the Disillusionment spell as I got to his cell door. When I walked in, I thought I was lost. He was standing next to his cot, facing the left wall. And, though I thought I was seeing things, he was brushing his teeth.

Crouch stood in front of a hovering basin and brushing his back teeth, before spitting into the basin and wiping his mouth with a towel. I looked at him, up and down, trying to make sure it was him. He was, unfortunately, shirtless again. I noticed two little lines, like dimples, on his lower back. They reminded me of dimples, both just below the kidneys. He was wearing what looked like sweatpants, and as he threw his shirt over him, I observed that it was just a dingy, army green t-shirt.

He suddenly seemed more human and it was making it difficult to hate him. But I was resilient.

"Does Azkaban provide you with that stuff?" I asked.

"No," he replied simply, before waving his hand. The moment he did, basin, towel, and toothbrush vanished with a pop.

My eyes went wide. He had just waved his hand and all of it had disappeared. My mouth was gaping open at the sight, and my arm was extended out with my finger pointing where the basin, brush, and towel had been.

"You just did…but…how did you learn to do wandless magic?" I stumbled out.

"I taught myself," he shrugged, "I always knew it would come in handy someday. What is the date today?"

"24th of July, 2003. It's a Thursday. That was very advanced! When did you start teaching yourself? _How_ did you teach yourself? That was so advanced! You made an object appear out of thin air! There was _water_ in that basin. You conjured an _element!_"

"I can transfigure with it as well," he boasted.

"You can transfigure? How? How do you do that?"

Crouch suddenly smirked and leaned back against the wall opposite me, crossing his arms. I was instantly uneasy. Something about him was too confident.

"What?" I pressed.

"What?" he raised his eyebrows in mock innocence.

"Why do you look like that?"

"Like what?"

"You look…overconfident. Why do you look like that?"

The smirk widened into a grin as he shook his head, "I can't tell you that."

"What? Why?"

"Well," he jerked his head, "I don't have to tell you," his eyes met mine and he smiled all the bigger, "your questions have long since been up."

I froze. What did he mean? I carefully thought back, from the moment I entered the room.

Then it was very clear. I'd asked him if Azkaban provided cleansing supplies. Immediately after, I asked him how he learned to do wandless magic.

"I…I didn't cast the spell…" I struggled to grab at my dignity as I realized how foolishly I had floundered.

"We never said we had to," he reminded me, "just that we should. If it makes you feel any better, I already asked you a general question."

"You what?"

"I asked the date," he told me. Surprisingly, I couldn't recall him doing so.

"Even still, I don't think those should have counted—"

"It was a general and a personal inquiry. Your questions are up. All I need do is ask you a personal question and we are done for the day."

"What? No!" I fumed, "No! I didn't realize we were already engaging in the question trading! That's unfair."

"Hermione, you take pride in your intelligence. I assumed you would use it. It's not my fault if your brilliant brain slipped."

I felt a spark light up a forest fire in my chest, "How dare you!"

"How dare I what? I am sticking to our terms. If anything, you are defying them. Now I get to ask you one more question—"

"I don't think so!" I turned around and opened the door, "I've had enough of you for today, Crouch!" I spat at him, vengefully not using his requested name again. I walked out of the cell and turned back to him to see how he would react.

To my surprise, all he did was smirk and turn from me. Then, in a gesture of power I could barely comprehend, he waved his hand and his door closed with a loud bang. Wary of how loud the sound was, I hurried away as fast as I could.

A hot bath; that was all I needed. I filled the tub in my flat, but as I looked at it, I felt like I needed more. I went into the cupboard, pushing aside multiple hair products and trying to find the few bubble bath and bathing oil packets Luna had given me. Luna was always very conscious of my mental state and had been insistent that I try a calming bath. It was good for my aura, apparently. I had thought nothing of it at the time. When I poured the oil into the tub and the stream of water stirred up the bubbles, I started to see exactly what she was encouraging me to do.

I sunk into the water and I audibly groaned in contentment. My legs were the only things in the water and I already felt better. Greedily, I slunk in as far as I could, dipping my entire head down before coming back up for air.

The gifts were from Luna, so perhaps I should have been prepared. However, I was caught off guard when the lights in my bathroom dimmed until everything was black. Just as it got as dark as possible, the water started glowing a pleasant light blue. Throughout the room, tiny soft yellow lights began to pop up, like little fireflies. The bubbles in the tub started to rise, one at a time. They seemed to be humming, The firefly-like lights were zipping around, leaving a trail of sparkling glitter behind them that faded. It reminded me of silent fireworks. As they rose up above the tub, they glowed different colors other than the light blue of the water. Their song was sweet, and I found myself smiling. This was absolutely wonderful, which sort of surprised me. I was not one for something like this. And yet I was more at peace and even happier than I had been in a long time.

Then, just as quickly, I was ashamed. My mind had already decided to ruin my little moment and go back and replay my goof-up over and over again. I put my head in my hands. I had completely gone back on my word. That made me no better than Crouch. All he had done was uphold what we had agreed to.

The bubbles, switching from green to purple or from red to yellow, were floating all over the bathroom. The water's peaceful glow was actually the effect of the spell that was thoroughly cleaning my body. I assumed it was the oils. I could feel my skin become smoother on my legs and arms. It felt like it was laying a blanket over me and when it pulled off, I was clean.

I had failed today. I considered briefly not going back to him, but I knew that wasn't truly an option. Tomorrow, I would have to trudge back to him, my tail between my legs.

For now, however, I would stay in this tub until the firefly lights stopped whizzing and the bubbles stopped singing. I hoped it would be hours. I needed hours.


	6. Chapter 6

I took a deep breath and hesitated. For some reason, I didn't just want to barge in. I needed to warn him that I was here. My hand, practically moving on its own, rose up and knocked on the door. For five long seconds, I waited. Then I opened the door and poked my head in.

Crouch was sitting on his bed again, his back straight against the wall. His eyes were closed and his hands were on his knees.

"Good morning Hermione," he greeted, though his eyes were still shut, "It's Friday, the 25th of July. It's 2003."

"Yes it is," I nodded pointlessly. I was already keeping my head down in embarrassment.

"Are we continuing on our arrangement?"

"Yes," I nodded again. Crouch's eyes opened and he smiled.

"Good! Now, cast the spell so that we have no more confusion."

I resigned and pulled out my wand, raising it before me.

"_Verum dolore!"_

Crouch abruptly jumped up and shook his limbs out, "There we are. So shall I go first or would you like to?"

"Wait, listen," I stopped him, "It's only fair that you get another question today. I didn't let you ask one yesterday and that's not what I agreed to. So, please, you can ask a second personal question. Or if you want a second general question; it is really up to you."

"You would extend me that courtesy?" He seemed genuinely complimented, but then changed his expression, instantly looking incredibly stern, "I thought I was scum. I thought I hardly deserved to breathe, let alone you offer such a kindness."

"I made a deal," I stated.

"You made a deal," he mimicked, "You are trying to pretend that you are allowing me to ask a second question because you respect the deal _we _made. In other words, you are trying to pretend that it is for my benefit. But that's not the case at all, is it? You are doing this because you want to keep your own integrity. You are worried for your pride. You have to maintain the image that you are better than I am, and you are doing it to the finest points."

"That is not the case at all!"

I knew I had made a mistake the moment the last word left my lips. The spell enacted instantly, targeting my wand hand. Despite how I knew the spell worked, I tried to control it. However, I let out a shriek, my hand twitched, and my wand fell to the floor. I grabbed at my palm with my other hand, rubbing it to try and diminish the pain. Only then, did I realize that my wand had rolled right next to his feet. I looked up at his face, terrified to see that he was very aware of where my wand was.

I would be powerless. As far as I could tell, he could do highly advanced wandless magic. However, I could do the same magic with more intensity, as long as I had my wand. Yet, without it, I was completely powerless. He didn't even need my wand to harness his power, as far as I could tell. But he had _my_ magic in his hands.

I was dead.

He bent over and picked it up, twirling it a few times in his hands. His long fingers played with it, gracefully spinning it in his hands.

"This is a beautiful wand," he commented, "and obviously powerful. It cast a very good _Verum Dolore_ spell. That's what it's called, yes? Try to remember that next time you try to lie to me."

I went to defend myself briefly, but out of fear of a repeated shot of pain and my wand being out of my reach, I said nothing.

He let out a slight laugh and then, to my unlimited surprise, extended my wand out to me.

"You'll try not to do that again, I am sure."

Stunned, my hand moved of its own accord to snatch my wand away.

"I didn't mean to lie," I whispered.

"Well that I would have believed regardless," he let out a little giggle and walked over to the center of the room. He waved his hands over the middle of the room, and then immediately, a small table with two chairs formed. I stood there in absolute awe. The chairs and table solidified and he stood straight before flicking his fingers twice, two cups of tea appearing on the table. Then he placed his hands behind his back and flashed me the widest smile I'd ever seen on him. He looked utterly childlike.

"Do you like milk with your tea?" he asked politely. I just stared at him. This man had just basically trashed me, and yet he had given back my wand and now offered me tea. Of course, his display of wandless magic after surrendering my wand could have been him threatening me_: Look at how much power I have. I could have killed you there. But I didn't._

"Yes, please" I finally answered him. He wiggled his head a little bit and then pulled out a chair for me, waving at it a bit dramatically.

"Mademoiselle," he said, a French accent rolling off his tongue. I walked cautiously over to him and sat down, letting him push the chair in for me. He readied my tea, leaving his tea as it was, and sat across from me.

I looked at the intricate table and chairs. They were like outdoor furniture, with the silver metal frames, glass tabletop, and soft cushions on the chairs themselves. The pattern of the metal frames was intricate, depicting roses with their stems entwining to make the chair itself.

"That was a very impressive display there," I complimented, trying to see for myself if perhaps it had been a threatening gesture.

"Why, thank you. It took me a little bit of an effort to produce a second chair and tea for you. I've mastered making my own at this point."

I simply nodded and looked at my tea. Then it dawned on me that I _was_ in the room with a crazy murderer.

"May I ask a question outside of our arrangement for my personal safety?"

He looked at me oddly for a second and then grinned, "Look at you, already taking another question."

"Crouch!" I snapped. He sighed dramatically to further tease me.

"I suppose, if it is a matter of you gaining security."

"Did you poison my tea?" I breathed out quickly.

He just stared at me, open mouthed, as if he was genuinely hurt by the accusation. Then he shook his head and sat down in front of me.

"I really should count that as a personal question."

"What? Why?"

"You are judging me on my character. I've already revealed to you one secret about my nature. I've revealed to you my intentions in our…meetings, if you will. Why would I poison you now? You know what? Your personal question is gone."

"You can't do that!"

"Oh yes I can!" He leaned forward, and rested his arms on the table, "You wanted to give me a question, and instead I say the opposite. That was your question."

I went to argue, but I couldn't. He had a right to do that, and if I wanted to hold up my integrity, I would let him.

"Fine," I crossed my arms and then purposely took a sip of my tea, looking at the corner of his cell poignantly. Damn; it was good. He had made it perfectly.

"You have one general question and I have one personal question now."

I brought my eyes back to him, "When did you ask me a general question?"

"I asked if you took milk with your tea," he informed me.

"You count that?"

"Yes."

I just stared blankly at him.

"Your plans are to ask my questions until you're satisfied," I said, more to myself, but he nodded anyways.

"Yes. I hope that wasn't a question."

"No, I was just…restating fact."

"That transitions into something I'd like to propose to you about our agreement," he sipped his tea.

"Oh?"

"I was hoping you would agree with me that the questions have to be specific. A simple 'what' or 'why' or 'how' does not count. Those I consider a request for elaboration of an answer. I would ask that we are allowed at least two elaborations to an answer."

"This is rather complicated," I moaned.

"No it's not," his face was suddenly very irritated and, though I was not worried he would actually do anything, I was unnecessarily afraid, "one general question, one personal question, two elaborations. A general question consists of something you would ask on…a first date." I tried not to show my repulsion at the notion of us in that way. I wondered, briefly, if he'd ever even been on a date.

"The second question is one that can range from second date to lover level."

I scoffed, "You've put too much thought into the—"

"I put these into a context the female brain can understand, and if there is one thing a female can comprehend, it is how to play coy on dates."

An actual laugh came out, "While I agree with you, I hardly consider myself the traditional definition of female."

"You are different, yes, but I am going off of what I know. What, with playing with the hearts of that boy Krum while your foolish ginger friend Weasley watched on in an envious rage?"

I stood up from my seat and leaned on the table to try and tower over him as he sat down, "Don't you ever talk about Ron. Never again! Do you understand me? Because if you do, I will kill you regardless of our deal and without any care for damn answers! Do you got that?"

I will never be able to describe the elation I felt as Crouch looked up at me as if I was the mad man.

"Understood. I will try not to bring him up again."

"Good!" I yelled for emphasis, and then sat back down. We sat there a few moments, drinking our tea as I boiled. It was almost civil of him to allow me to have my silence, but I was still fuming. At one point I finished my tea and without asking he refilled it, milk and all. I quietly mumbled a thank you.

"I have my question." He said after several minutes.

"All right."

"How did you feel when you were sorted into Gryffindor?"

I gave him a slightly confused look

"How do you mean?"

"Tell me about it. Tell me what the Sorting Hat said."

"Uh, well… it took a long time. It took the second longest time in history, actually. The Hat really wanted to place me in Ravenclaw. Of course, I was not opposed to the idea, but I suppose the Hat saw the potential for me to be in Gryffindor. If I had been in Ravenclaw, I may never have branched out and made friends. I would have focused on my studies all the time, as that would have been expected of me. Gryffindors are brave, and so being placed in that house was somewhat like incentive to be brave myself."

When I stopped talking, my eyes focused on Crouch. He was smiling.

"You left something out."

I hesitated, "No I…"

Then I stopped and remembered that I _had_ left something out. Something I didn't even remember myself very often.

"It was an accident. I did not mean to omit anything."

"I believe you," he said.

"It considered placing me elsewhere for a moment, but I had read about the reputation the house held and asked politely if I could not be there."

"You're not referring to Hufflepuff."

"Actually, it said that once too, saying I had a tender heart, but feeling my brain overpowered that."

"Which is why it tried to put in Slytherin."

"Not at first!" I said indignantly, "it first said Ravenclaw. Then it wondered about Slytherin."

"Did it say why?"

I almost answered, and then I remembered the deal we made. I smiled, rather smug.

"I don't have to tell you that."

To my dismay, Crouch also smiled, "I suppose you don't have to tell me, but in not telling me, I see why. You could use that brain to get ahead. With friends looking out for their own interests and using that scheming skill, you would have modeled yourself the same way," he sat back and giggled, "You would have gone so far in Slytherin."

"I prefer the journey I went on in Gryffindor, thank you."

"Yes, of course." He nodded.

"What House were you in?"

Surprisingly, his face fell.

"Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. No one ever told me."

"Does it need saying?"

I squinted my eyes at him, "Yes."

He cleared his throat, "I was…I was in…"

My brain was jumbled suddenly. Was he _not_ in Slytherin? Had he been in another house? How would that even have been possible? Why was he hesitating so much? Had he been somewhere else? Had he been a Hufflepuff? Maybe a Ravenclaw? Could he have been in Gryffindor?

"I was in Slytherin."

My mouth opened slightly, "Why…why did you hesitate in telling me that?"

"Because Hermione," he drank down the rest of his tea and made the cup disappear, "I was given a choice as well."

"What choice?"

"All of them."

Now my mouth dropped, "All of them? But how?"

He grinned, "I don't have to tell you."

I frowned, annoyed that he had beat me again, and stood up, "I suppose I'll have to answer another time." I wasn't about to let him toy with me anymore, and I was eager to ask more questions already. He seemed taken aback, but stood as well. He vanished the table and chairs.

"Yes, you will."

In that moment I did something that rather shocked both of us. I will never understand what compelled me to do it, but when I did, both of us seemed to gasp:

I held my hand out to shake his.

Trying to pretend it was on purpose, though we both knew it wasn't, I held my ground, making direct eye contact with him.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then."

He looked at my hand, his eyebrow raised in a way that was becoming familiar, but then smirked and shook it, "Until then." He let go and I finally breathed out.

I nodded curtly and then turned and walked towards the door.

"Just remember one thing," he said as I was almost there.

"What's that?"

"Slytherin's are the best at head games. Are you sure you're prepared?"

I grinned, "Naturally. I was almost one, after all."


	7. Chapter 7

"Shall we continue?"

"Yes," he concurred and waved his hands again, this time producing bigger chairs with fluffier cushions, but the same table and tea cups. I cast the _Verum Dolore_ spell simultaneously.

"So who goes first?"

"I think I will this time," he decided for us, "I'll start with the personal question, if you don't mind."

"Not at all."

"How are you not getting caught?"

"Getting caught?"

"Yes; how are you not getting caught coming in here?"

"Is this personal?"

"Absolutely," he grinned, "I am asking how you are able to do something highly illegal."

"I am afraid to tell you."

"Why?"

I kept my mouth shut. I couldn't lie, but I did _not_ want to tell him how truly easy it would be for him to—

"Escape," he deduced, finishing my thought, "you are worried I will use it to escape."

"Yes," I confirmed.

"You needn't fret," he waved his hand at me, "if I were to even place a hand outside that door, all the sensors and alarms go off. They have some very advanced magic attached to me. They do not want me to escape."

"That changes things," I laughed nervously, "it's fairly easy. No one guards this wing. No one guards much of the building except a few walking guards and dementors in areas where conscious criminals are. This wing is practically void of anything. As long as I keep a Disillusionment spell and stay away from dementors, I am able to get in."

"Plus there are no security measures for unauthorized door openings either," Crouch guessed.

"Not in this wing," I admitted.

"Do you fly here?"

"Yes, under the same spell."

"I thought you couldn't fly well," he looked at me, visibly confused.

"Oh no, I used to be wretched," I laughed, "but I had to learn to get around some undetectable way."

"Fair enough," he replied.

"So my turn?"

"Your turn," he affirmed.

"How did you like school?"

Crocuh leaned back and appeared meditative. He remained lost in thought for quite some time, before I cleared my throat and he snapped out of it.

"Sorry," he mumbled, "trying to recall my school years."

"Painful?"

His eyes drilled into mine, and I saw so much sadness in a single moment that I fleetingly felt pity for him, "Oh yes," he said.

"Then again," he chuckled, the morose face gone, "that had more to do with home life, but it transcended into school."

"How so?"

"It took ages for me to make friends," he disclosed, "mostly due to how my father was. No one trusted me in my house. Slytherins are very careful about which friends to make. My father worked in the ministry and was a highly respected official. They knew I was in the house, but was I in it because I was simply a snobby, rich boy? Or did I truly have the cunning mind that Slytherin boasts? For three years, I was left alone. Evidently, that did pave the way for my phenomenal marks in education and my further thirst for intellect. I made history with my academics."

"I've never heard your name."

"Well, after some of my choices were made," he jested, lightly going over the exact reason he was going to die when this was over, "Hogwarts has tried not to mention my name. Instead, they always discuss the success of one of your professors, even though he earned less than I did."

"One of my professors?"

"Severus Snape," Crouch grumbled, "though, as I understand it, _someone_ has beaten his records."

I blushed, flattered, but tried not to remain so, "It was very close."

"Yes, but I read your portfolio," he smiled wide, another familiar action now, "you were close, but you didn't beat me."

I was appalled, "What? How did you read my portfolio? How did you _beat_ me? I was almost perfect! And it is my understanding that you dropped out your seventh year! How in the world could you have managed that?"

He kept on grinning. I just gawked at him and then realized why he was smiling. I moaned.

"If I didn't have a very pressing personal question, I would ask you one of those," I confessed.

"I know," he cackled, clearly feeling victorious.

"Would you like to ask your general question first?"

"I would like that," he owned up, "where do you work?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Why do I ask anything?" he shrugged, but when I rolled my eyes, he caved, "I am wondering how I can see you every day."

"I am the Charms Professor at Hogwarts," I told him. "I took over when Flitwick became headmaster."

Crouch cocked his head to the side, "Where's McGonagall?"

"Professor McGona…" I started, correcting Crouch much like I had corrected the boys in school, but then it hit me. Like a wave in an unforgiving ocean, I found myself tumbling in a sea of abrupt grief. I wanted to speak, but I already felt the lump in my throat. I tried again, but I was foiled by the impressing grief that hit me. Crouch raised his hand.

"I see," he whispered, rather gently. I hated him for his compassion. He was a killer. He'd murdered his father, tortured Neville's parents, brought back the Dark Lord (and I was going over the list in my head for my own benefit), and yet here he was showing me sincere sympathy in his actions, allowing me to not have to say a fact that I was still having a hard time dealing with.

My next focus was to try and dismiss the thoughts, but his empathetic act and the sudden recollection of past events was catching me off guard. I never thought Professor McGonagall would come up in conversation. Yet she had, and Crouch had unknowingly brought her up to make me remember Ron too.

"It was my fault," I choked out, tears slipping down my cheeks, despite my best efforts. I covered my face, completely ashamed at my lack of control.

"Hermione?" I snuck a glance at him. He was leaning forward, his hands reaching towards me, but knowing not to try and touch me. His face was what blew me away. He looked concerned, like he really wanted to help.

"I'm sorry," I said pointlessly.

"I…I can't…" he stuttered. His body was as close as it could be over the table. How had he managed to do this to me? How he managed to make me into this mess?

Then a horrid thought crossed my mind. Was he doing it on purpose?

I threw my head back to try and stifle the tears, and then quickly snapped my head back to its normal position. I was astonished by his expression. It did not look at all pleased. Crouch looked indisputably broken up. He seemed helpless, like he had never encountered a crying woman before. His hands were stretched out, like he had wished to lay a comforting hand on my shoulder, but knew I might blow it off in my volatile state.

"I just have one question, and I would like to ask it and leave," I told him. He closed his mouth and swallowed hard, nodding.

"You said something insinuating that you had revealed some sort of secret to me about your character," I tried to focus on breathing evenly, "what was it?"

He was still nodding, then realized he had to answer, "Um…well, I…um…threatened you…when you asked me what I wanted in exchange for answers. But I told you I would never ask you to do anything remotely sexual."

"Right," I pressed.

"That's it," he shrugged, "I have never been one to approve of doing anything like that. Even when I was…" he hesitated, glancing at me guiltily, then clearing his throat, "a Death Eater, I never participated in it. At first, the Dark Lord or whoever was leading us at the time would try and make me, but I would always talk my way out of it. Not once did I touch a man or woman nor did they do anything to me. It makes me sick, really, to think of forcing someone to do that. It's…it's worse than murder because a person has to live with that shame for the rest of their life. It was the worst when I would have to stand and watch some poor soul get…" he paused again, "…you know; over and over again, keeping them barely alive. I will never understand how these people, these people I grew up with, could find any sort of pleasure from such a horrifying act. They would continuously abuse a prisoner within an inch of their life. When it happened to any of our captors, I was the one who opted to do the most humane thing I knew possible."

"And that was?"

Crouch looked me right in the eye, unflinching and certain in himself, "I killed them."

_Sorry for the delay. I just got out of college and because of a VERY STUPID FRIEND was banned from the internet on campus. BUT I have a LOT more chapters written. Sooooo I may post _

_A lot_

_I love the reviews! Thank you all so very, very much!_


	8. Chapter 8

He smiled when I walked in.

"I am surprised you chose to return."

I looked at him. He was unshaven, though he might have been the day before and I hadn't noticed. He was sitting on his cot, his feet propped up on the bed. He was resting his elbows on his knees and had his thumbs resting on his teeth. He looked ridiculous.

"Of course I did. Did you not expect me to?"

He grinned a moment, then jumped up, "I guess I did," he paused, and then looked at me, "Do you remember when you came in here the first day?"

"How can I forget?"

"I have to apologize for that."

I narrowed my eyes at him, "Why?"

"Because when you walked in, I sort of lost it."

"You…lost it?" I looked at him quizzically.

"Well, when you first walked in, I thought I had finally snapped. I wasn't sure why it was you that I was seeing, but it made more sense than you actually coming in here."

"Oh," I put in, a bit confused as to why he was offering this information.

"That's why I was a bit…um…crazy? I wanted it to go away and I wasn't even sure you were real until you came back. By then, I had sort of set-," he giggled, "set the bar for insanity. I didn't want to disappoint you, now, did I?"

"What are you saying?"

"Yesterday you shared something deeply personal without meaning to, so I thought it would be nice to give you something that makes me lose face as well."

"Oh," I repeated myself.

"So what I am trying to get across is that I did not mean to be so…"

"Terrifying?"

"Yeah," he half-smiled, "there was a time that I was that crazy and might have killed you rather than trying to figure out if you were really there or not. But I guess I've gotten a little tame in my old age."

I smiled, "You're barely 40."

"Like I said, old age," he returned my smile, "I want to apologize for being that way. The second day was kind of the same thing."

I thought back to some of the things he had said that day, "You told me you didn't want to use the cheap fear tactics anymore."

"That was me breaking away from it. I'm not like that anymore, Hermione. My life has become dramatically different since entering this prison. I have gained much perspective on myself and everything around me." He smiled, playfully, "I still have my moments, I can assure you, but I'm not the same man you came here to kill."

I assessed him, completely confused by his words, "All right then."

"Off you go!" he waved, too happy for my liking, "cast your spell."

Continuing to eye him suspiciously, I did as he said and sat on the chair. This one was a little more lavish than before, the cushion extending to the back rest now.

"I'll start then," he said, "what are your hobbies?"

Since I was still exceptionally cautious, I stared at him, "Why?"

He giggled, "I didn't know we had to provide reasons now."

"Well, um, we don't," I stumbled, "I'm just unnaturally wary, I guess."

"Okay then, I _guess_ I just wanted to know what you would usually do over a summer."

"Hmm," I thought about it a moment, "I would probably master a new trade. That's what I've been doing. I spend the summer learning how to do something. For example, that's when I learned to ride a broom. I think this summer I just would have wanted to read as many books as I could have." I zoned out for a moment, "I really want a new book, actually. I want something a bit…different than usual."

A few seconds later, Crouch was waving his hand in my face.

"Hello?"

"Oh sorry," I blushed, "I was just trying to think of what to get."

"I always loved me a good book."

"What is your…well, I mean to say, what was your favorite book?"

"Tolkien's The Hobbit, easily," he smiled, "I used to read it all the time."

I was completely taken aback, "That's Muggle fiction."

"Muggle fiction is the best!" Crouch smiled, "they have so much imagination! I mean, sometimes magic can make people take for granted the simple wonders of the world." It was his turn to zone out, "I miss that book."

"Can't you just…replicate it?"

He went to speak but I cut across him.

"No! Don't answer that! It's an extra question."

"Nah, I will take it as an elaboration."

"Well," I found myself smiling, "that's rather generous."

He grinned, "You can assume that it's generous if you like." I went to ask him what that meant, but he continued on, "No, I cannot conjure a book. That would mean that I can picture each and every word. When I make a chair or anything, it is because I can picture it very clearly. I would have to have memorized every single word on each and every page to remake it."

"I see how that would be an issue."

"Yes."

"Why are you saying that I may _assume_ that?"

Crouch smirked, "That counts as your personal question."

"Fair enough."

"I want contraband, obviously. Figure if I hint at it enough, you might feel like being generous."

I set my jaw, "I don't think so."

"Oh come on, I made you tea!"

I glared at him.

Crouch looked away and acted embarrassed, "And brought back the Dark Lord. Point taken; no book."

I bit my lip, trying not to laugh. His shameful puppy attitude was practically comical, if it wasn't so absolutely horrid.

"What were you like before you found out you were a witch?"

"Oh wow, before? I haven't thought about that in quite a long time. I guess I was the same, really. Before school, I was just a little girl. I explored the world around me. I love the outdoors, despite what my friends think. I prefer to take my studies outside. But that's where I spent my early childhood: climbing trees, making sidewalk creations out of chalk, dancing around in the grass. When school started, I got that nice shock of reality that girls weren't supposed to do all that. So I hit the books. I never really changed much, I suppose. I was teased, of course, because of my hair and my teeth, so I was fairly used to isolation by the time I came to Hogwarts—"

"Yeah about the teeth," Crouch shot in, looking a bit awkward, "I do remember earlier on that you had slightly larger…" he trailed off.

"A potions accident offered me the chance to shrink them and I took it. I'm not one for altering your body, like breast enlargement or botox like the Muggles do, but I have no opposition to enhancing something that has been hindering your life since entering any social circle."

"Girls can't always go around constantly fixing their insecurities," Crouch argued, "can you imagine what it would be like if all girls fixed what they hated about themselves? They would all end up looking the same. They would be completely fake."

"You know, there are very few spells surrounding beautification."

"Really? I thought there were ones all about, you know, fixing hair or make up and the like."

"No, not at all. There are potions to put in your hair, like shampoo, but that is it. They work better, but not much. The only reason there is a spell for teeth at all is because it's bone."

"Fascinating; I never knew that."

"Well, you are right. The women who try to develop spells like that always end up way worse off, so after a while, people stopped trying."

"Your hair has calmed down quite a bit since fourth year," he grinned.

I bit my tongue, tempted to bring up exactly _why_ he knew what I looked like in fourth year, but held back, "After the Yule Ball, I actually took time to do it. Very tedious; being a woman."

"Wouldn't know," Crouch smiled. I allowed myself to smile back.

"It's a difficult life."

"Did you ever display any signs of magic before you got your letter?"

I let out a, frankly horrendously embarrassing, laugh as I remembered.

"Oh yes. Just one very big sign."

"Which was?"

"I controlled the weather."

Crouch looked incredulous, "You did what?"

"I controlled the weather."

"How?"

"Well, think! I had a very mundane childhood. I never really had reason to be upset or angry, and even when I was bullied in school I never seemed to wish ill upon any of the horrid girls. I always pitied them, rather than was angry at them. So my magic never got to spurt out with anger or fear. Instead, I would make the weather mimic my emotions."

"Seriously?"

"Yes. When I was happy, it would always be sunny. When I was sad, it rained. When I was angry, it was a thunderstorm. When I was in a mood to study, it was my favorite weather: warm enough to sit outside with a comfortable cool breeze. I never noticed until mum pointed it out once we found out about my being a witch."

"That's rather amazing."

"It went undetected too, which is rather odd. But I suppose it is a lot more subtle than a child ending up on a roof or growing his hair back overnight."

Crouch smiled softly, "You're thinking of Potter, aren't you?"

I grinned, "Yes, that's what happened to him. How did you know?"

Without warning, Crouch suddenly bolted around the table and covered my mouth. He was too close, his chest pressed against mine as he tried to regain his balance. He moved his body back a bit, but his face remained unnaturally near and his hand was firm over my lips. I made to protest but his eyes were pleading and he shook his head vehemently. He looked towards the door. I became aware of his other hand squeezing my forearm as he released his grip slightly. As we both stared at the door, my brain was trying to understand, and I realized an interesting fact: he'd asked me another question and I hadn't even noticed. I was forgetting the whole point of this. It wasn't for him, it was for me to understand. I could not _enjoy_ myself and forget the entire reason for it all. This man, breathing heavily and starring at the door with a calculated expression, was still a murderer.

I scolded myself, recognizing that I had (again) completely let this fact slip my mind.

Just then, a slot appeared in the door and food was pushed through. As soon as it had materialized, the slot in the door disappeared. Crouch kept his hand over my mouth, on his knees next to my chair, his face inches from mine. I began to breathe heavier, feeling very uncomfortable. It may have been fear. I had been that close from being caught.

After a few seconds, Crouch let out a deep sigh and removed himself, sitting back on his chair, "Sorry about that, but I am sure you see why I did that."

"Yes," I nodded, "I understand, of course."

Crouch waved his hand, and the food levitated over to the table. He looked up and winked at me. He had been showing off there. He transfigured the absolute slosh into warm chicken and corn with a biscuit. My mouth watered.

"You have an impressive amount of skill," I said for his benefit to acknowledge his flamboyant display.

"When you have years, you gain plenty of skill."

"Now, about what I said?" I wanted to press on.

"Hm?"

"How did you know I was thinking of Harry?"

"You always have a very content expression when you think of Potter, like you're talking about a brother or something."

I looked at him suspiciously, as I had earlier, "I haven't really mentioned him before. How do you know what my face looks like when I talk about Harry?"

Suddenly, Crouch was blushing.

My brain was whirring, "You would only have been able to see me in school,"

Crouch was not meeting my eyes. He stood up and turned away from me.

I leaned forward, "Did you watch me when I was in school?"

"Not just you," he spat out, turning suddenly to defend himself, "but yes."

"Why did you watch me at all?"

Crouch bit his lip, "I'm not…let's not answer that one today."

"You asked me more questions today, you know."

"Yes, but you did not protest."

"Does that matter?"

"I would say so. You wanted to answer them, so you did. I don't want to answer, so I am pushing it off until tomorrow, when I know you will ask again. At least now, I have time to figure out how to answer without you making your decision prematurely."

"Of course," I agreed, standing, "you're right. I suppose I best be off."

"If you wish," he waved his hand, my chair disappearing and him dismissing me at the same time. He began to eat his meal.

"I see no point in me staying," I eyed him.

"Perhaps not."

His tone was a bit sad, and it threw me off.

"Well…thank you for the tea."

He grinned, "It is literally the very least thing I can do. I will see you tomorrow, then?"

I hesitated a moment, making him look at me, before I came to my senses, "Yes, right. Good evening."

For the second time, I extended my hand to him. He smirked and shook it and I left.

I couldn't help but feeling like I was missing something.

_Hello again! Hope I posted soon enough. I've got to tell you, I am BLOWN AWAY by the amount of favorites I am getting. Really, I am! Hope to see some more reviews._

_As a note, up there Hermione says that there aren't a lot of beautification spells. This is something I have as a headcanon. I believe, much like Muggles, with the means, women would make themselves into what they think is beautiful but societies definition and take away all of their "flaws". Therefore, I wrote up there that, in fact, there are NOT a lot of beautification spells. The women who may have tried to develop these have been met with consequences far worse than whatever blemish they had._

_But yes. In my mind, there is no spell that does your hair or make up or can change how you look. If there were, it would undoubtedly be abused, so I made it all go away _

…_.this has nothing to do with the story, but I just wanted to explain._

_HOPE YOU LIKE IT! LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!_


	9. Chapter 9

It was an odd day. I could tell. I woke up and was already cranky, as was a Monday tradition. Yesterday was, of course, pressing on my mind.

_Day_ _five_, I noted. We hadn't even been at this a week and yet I had already revealed so much of my personal life that I never expected to. Why was I letting him know these things?

_He asked the right questions,_ my head answered for me. I had to give him that.

But I was already losing sight of who I was dealing with. Yesterday, he'd almost made me laugh and he'd been talking about exactly what I was going to kill him for. It was completely backwards. I had to keep my head on straight.

Today, I was going to ask him questions that might make him uncomfortable. I knew at least one of them would; he'd admitted to not really wanting to answer. I had this one on him.

"Well," he smiled when I walked in, and I was reminded again that this psychopath actually had a very lovely face, "good morning! Nice to see you so early."

"I didn't even check the time before I left, actually," I admitted.

"I only know relative time, cause of the sun."

I stared at him, looking left and right, "You can't see the sun in your cell."

Crouch grinned wide, "Sure I can."

I let my eyes humorously look side to side, "No you can't."

He smirked, "Do you trust me?"

I stared at him.

"Right, dumb question. Ignore that. Just come here."

He beckoned to me, his fingers curling to summon me. Carefully, I walked to stand next to him. He bent over and lifted his bed, folding it over and pushing it against the adjacent wall. Then, he stepped right up to the stone, his nose almost touching it.

"Come here," he said again, trying to make me do as he did. He extended his hand out, like his wanted me to take it. I took a deep breath and stood next to him on the wall, ignoring his hand. Lucky for him, he had not intended for me to take it. Instead, he suddenly touched the wall and ran it up along the surface.

My heart stopped.

The entire wall vanished and I was standing at the edge of the floor. If I took a step forward, I would fall to the ground below. I gasped and all but leaped backwards, scared that I would chose this time to be unnaturally clumsy.

"It's ok!" Crouch giggled, his hand reaching out again, but this time he _did_ mean to take my hand. What was he playing at? Was he going to grab me and throw me off or something?

"Look, Hermione," he put up his other hand and it seemed to press against something. He leaned against the expanse of nothing, but didn't seem to fall forward at all, as if the wall was still there.

Still refusing to take his hand, I stepped forward, pushing my palm out. Sure enough, I could still feel the stone of the wall. He'd made it vanish. He'd made it vanish with wandless magic.

"It's like a one way mirror," he said, "I can look out and see the sun, but no one can see in."

Realizing I wasn't going to fall off the edge, I got braver and stepped all the way forward. It was actually beautiful. The sun was rising over the water and glistening off of it, creating a little dance of light on the waves.

"My only regret is that I can't feel it," he continued, almost muttering to himself, "I haven't felt the sun in eight years."

"This is still rather…nice," I admitted, opting not to use the word beautiful.

"It'd be a cool trick if I ever wanted to woo someone," he laughed.

I whipped my head around. As soon as I did, he pulled back.

"Not that I am trying to do that!" he defended, "but I mean it would be amazing to do on a starry night or something. Maybe a rainy one."

"Did you ever have any love interests?" I asked.

He raised his eyebrow at me, smirking.

I groaned, "_Verum Delore." _The spell settled its way through me and I looked back at him.

"Ok yes, questions have begun," I confirmed.

He smiled a very content looking grin and waved his hand again. The wall solidified in front of me and I became aware of how close it was. If I had even leaned a bit, I would have been pressed against it.

I turned around and saw he had already made the table and chairs appear. He sat down and his pleasant smile remained.

"Would you repeat that for me?"

"Did you ever have any interests like that? Have you ever wanted to 'woo' someone?"

Crouch sat back, seemingly pondering his answer, "Not in school, but there was one girl I rather fancied for a while in my adult life."

"Who was that?"

He smirked, "Is that your personal question?"

"I assumed this is an elaboration of my personal question."

"Fair enough," he nodded, "Her name was Laura. She was a guard here that took care of me years ago."

"They used to do more than push what they call food through the door?"

He smirked, "Oh yes. Laura was in charge of keeping me secret and comfortable. They knew all I had to do was yell and I would alert everyone that I was alive. They obviously didn't want that, so they kept Laura around to sedate me."

"Sedate you?"

"Not literally, but she would keep me company, play stupid card games with me, talk about nothing, all that nonsense. It took a year, but I realized that I had fallen in love with her. Keep in mind, I was still batshit crazy then and wasn't really capable of understanding my emotions. But in that year, I had calmed a bit and, while it was very foreign, I realized that I could not live without this woman.

"She wasn't pretty at all. I mean, how pretty can you be if you're a guard in Azkaban? But to me she was completely flawless. Perhaps it was the mania, but I was in love. I began to do everything I could to try and get on her good side. She was already fond of me, thinking I was just misunderstood. One night, I told her my whole life story and it only cemented her belief. The same night, I told her I was in love with her and that when I got out of there I would make her the happiest woman in the universe. All of time and space would pale in comparison to what I would do for her. She didn't respond how I expected."

"She was not quite interested?"

"She told me she was flattered, but that she didn't think it was a good idea for her to be philandering with one of her prisoners. It stung, because it had always seemed that I wasn't a prisoner. She didn't talk to me like one nor did she ever treat me as such. But I told her every day I saw her that I loved her, just before she would leave. About a year later, she started saying it back to me."

I couldn't help but smile. It was rather endearing. Then I noticed a huge flaw, "But where is she now?"

Crouch's eyes became cold, and I saw in him the murderer I knew him to be. His expression could have brought me chills, "A year after she started telling me she loved me back, she confessed that she had fallen in love with me," Crouch let out a small laugh, "she said 'God help me, but I do love you'. By then, I was getting better, but with Death Eaters strolling in frequently and my Dark Mark burning, the mania still had hold of me. I was not going anywhere. Then, it happened. She tried to get me out, saying I was rehabilitated and I was completely fine and that I may be able to help the Light. But this did not go over well with Rufus Scrigemour. He knew of the big secret of me being alive and he wanted that to keep quiet. When Laura threatened to tell everyone about me, my story, and try to advocate my release, I am positive that he wanted to prevent that from ever happening.

"Laura died mysteriously in her bed. No signs of forced entry. Cause of death was apparent suicide. I've never had an active guard since, but I haven't needed one. When they told me she was dead, I went silent for five years. The only thing I ever did was practice my magic. I didn't say a word.

"And then," he grinned suddenly, "this beautiful, young girl snuck into my cell and tried to kill me."

My mouth opened just enough to let in a breath as I realized exactly what he was saying. Despite my reddening face, I tried to focus.

"You…you hadn't spoken in five years—"

"And then I said your name. You should feel remarkably special," he teased. I could tell he was having a slight moment then, because his smile was a tiny bit off kilter and his hand shook as he took a sip of his tea. Suddenly, I couldn't help myself:

"Why did you watch me in school?"

His now very familiar grin became a bit cold again, "That's a little predictable, isn't it, Hermione?"

"All the same," I persisted.

"Luckily, I intercepted you yesterday and had time to think about this. I watched you because, tactically, it was wise. You were Potter's closest friend, and because he was the focus of my entire escapade, I had to learn about him. This includes learning about you. Since that year was the last year of my free life, I do repeat it in my head frequently. It is very hard to forget someone you spent a year studying."

"You…studied me?"

He rolled his eyes, "As any man preparing for battle would. I was hoping to return to my former master with intimate knowledge on Potter as well as his friends. He would not yet have seen the advantage of knowing about you and—" Crouch stopped, looked at me, and then continued, "anyways, I would him inform as to why you were so important to be aware of."

I was shocked when I realized he had respected me. I had told him, if a bit harshly, not to mention Ron. And he had not. I was amazed.

"So how did you know I was thinking about Harry?"

"This is going to sound horrible, but it is the same expression I saw that you had when you were with him in school. I don't know why I remember—well I guess I do. It's mostly because I was envious of that content sort of relationship. You were so young, but you already had a deep, adult-like connection with Potter. It was amazing. Considering what I was doing, it was nice for me to recall actual happiness in that time period."

"I understand, I suppose. It was…war and you were on the wrong side, but you were still at war."

He nodded, "You see why I was careful."

"Yes," I answered immediately.

"Um, speaking of which, I have a question that is sort of insensitive, but not really."

"What is that?"

"How…is…Neville Longbottom?"

The moment the last syllable left his lips, I felt myself becoming enraged. Sure, Crouch had been careful how he had formed his question, but he was still asking the well-being of the boy whose parents had been tortured to insanity by him. Knowing Neville, it was very hard to not get angry. I remembered times in school as he dealt with his parents' madness. Then, just last year, his father had passed in the night. While Crouch had respected me earlier to not mention Ron, I still considered this to be equally offensive.

"Neville is quite well," I answered, making sure my tone with cold enough to Crouch to get the message.

"Oh good," Crouch nodded slowly, "Are you…close to him?"

"Close enough."

"Like…dating?"

"What? No! Neville has become one of my greatest friends, yes, but Neville actually has no interest in a girl like me. He is actually getting married."

"Oh, is he?"

"Yes. He and Ms. Chang soon-to-be Longbottom seem quite compatible and happy together, as they have been for about two years."

"Cho Chang? That girl that was with that Cedric boy that messed up my—"

"Excuse me?" I snapped at him, and Crouch's eyes went wide with realization.

"Nevermind," Crouch tried, but I wasn't having it.

"Messed up your what?"

"Hermione, don't—"

"Tell me!"

"My plans!" Crouch admitted, now glaring, if only to match me.

"Oh you poor thing! Cedric Diggory messed up your plans to bring the Dark Lord to power!"

"I don't want to do this with you," he stood up, trying to walk away.

"Oh you've already done it! How dare you!"

Crouch looked at me and a look of comprehension came to him.

"Oh God, he was killed, wasn't he?" he said, almost apologetically, but I could hardly believe him.

"Yes, _Barty_," I spat out, standing up, "Cedric Diggory was murdered because of _your_ portkey that _you_ left in the center of the maze in the chance that Harry would be killed. You know, Harry, my friend! And then, because of _your _portkey, Cedric was killed by Peter Pettigrew. And then, because of _your_ portkey, Voldemort was able to rise again. This resulted in the deaths of hundreds of people which includes a good portion of my close friends. So I could give a care less if Cedric's generosity and damned good heart messed up your plans."

"I always assumed that Cedric was the reason Potter lived. I didn't know he was killed!"

"What did you expect, Crouch?" I shouted at him.

"I had a job to do!"

"Your job was murder! Cold-blooded murder! You may not have cast the spells or held the blades, but all of Voldemort's tyranny was possible because of you!"

"I told you, I have my moments where I forget that," Crouch yelled. The table and chairs disappeared, and I knew that meant that was no longer concentrated enough to keep them there, "but do not think that I do not live with that knowledge every single day. Any time I do forget, I have these walls to remind me. I am being punished for it. It's not like I want to be here."

"Oh gosh, prison! Why, how unlucky are you! Transfiguring your slosh into five star meals every day and working out to keep your body nice and toned and getting to breathe air. It could be better if you were rotting in a grave, I'll give you that."

"How is it that you _still _wish me dead? You've seen how I am. You know a _lot_ about me, and it's like it doesn't even matter!"

"My friends are still dead, Crouch!"

"So are mine!"

"Because of what _you_ did! Your master probably killed them himself."

"Stop this!" he took a step forward, trying to bask in our height difference, but I looked up at him defiantly.

"Not ever!"

"You're the one who is mad! You go from acting like a flirty school girl to telling me I'm better off dead—"

"What?" I shrieked, beyond flabbergasted now.

"Come off it, Hermione! You can't keep doing this! I'm the one that is supposed to be insane!"

""You are insane!"

"Do you still want to kill me?"

I blinked at him, "What?"

"As my personal question, do you still want to kill me?"

"Yes."

"Hasn't even crossed your mind- the other option, has it?"

"I would rather die than kiss you."

Then very suddenly, a spark of pain shot up in my head. I screamed, completely shocked as I realized where the pain came from. Crouch laughed, suddenly grabbing me and pulling me close to him.

"Something tells me your lying," he said, a sneer in his voice. I struggled in his grasp, wriggling.

"I did not lie!"

"Your little spell says you did!"

I took a moment to look at him as he said that, and I saw that mania in his eyes that I had seen on the first day. I had seen the spark earlier, but now he was back to it. Barty Crouch Jr was back to being the man who was responsible for the deaths of so many.

_That's not the same man you laugh and drink tea with._

I shook my head and focused my energy back into what was going on.

"I didn't lie!"

"Then tell me what it means!"

I stopped moving and spoke clearly, "Perhaps death would make me consider it, but I can assure you Crouch, I do not want to kiss you."

We both seemed to wait a moment to see if it was true. I was horrified to realize that I was waiting as well, as if I didn't know for sure.

"At all," I finished.

Crouch snarled and threw me away from him.

"You're a foolish girl, Hermione. Let the past be the past and realize the present."

I just stomped off, opening his cell door and doing everything my power not to slam it shut.


	10. Chapter 10

_**It's a long one. Brace yourself**_

I woke up the next morning exhausted. My dreams had been vicious, though I could not remember what they were even about, and my bed just didn't seem comfortable at all.

It was Tuesday. As I stretched out on the bed, my limbs and back cracking like I was ninety, I considered not going to Azkaban today. It seemed like a hassle. Yesterday had been awful and I did not want to go back to that. I hated him right now. Now, in the morning, I recognized how truly bipolar I had seemed. I was laughing and then ready to tear his head off. He _had_ tried to be careful. Regardless, I did not feel up to flying out there and staying to sit in physically heavy tension.

How rude that would be, though. I would just not show up? He was expecting me. It's not like I could fetch some parchment and write him a letter. I doubted that would go over very well. But I truly had no way of alerting him.

I recalled him saying something about the time. I had been sticking to an earlier time every day. But perhaps I could push it off until later. Yes, that would do.

Today, I decided I would take a little trip to Muggle London. I decided, to feel better, I would buy myself a new book.

It was not as busy as I might have hoped it would be on the streets. It _was_ Tueday. Most people were still at their regular jobs. I smiled, thinking of their regular Muggle jobs and their regular Muggle lives.

For a while, I thought it was going to join them. The scars the War had left made me consider snapping my wand and hiding forever in the Muggle world. It would have been easy. I even tried it for a few days. Nevertheless, I always knew somewhere in my consciousness that I would go mad having to accept the Muggle ways of doing things.

Then it became inconvenient when I would wave my hand in an attempt to do magic I was used to doing in everyday life only to accidentally knock out a light bulb with the little dose of wandless magic it produced.

I went to the little corner book store, hoping to find some rare gem of Muggle fiction. Perhaps something I had never read before that had long since been on my list of "Books to Read Before I Die", a list I kept somewhere in my flat.

Walking into the book store (called "Book Soul"), I was immersed in the scent. I smiled; I loved that smell more than anything in the world. It was peaceful in the worst of times.

I scoured the shelves for something to stand out. Someone once said "you can't judge a book by its cover", but a cover said a lot about its contents. If it was a quirky teen novel, there would be some girl standing in an awkward position on the front. With sports books, you'd have some close up on a piece of equipment or part of the uniform. If it was a romance, you would see two people on it. I was quick to steer clear of the covers with any sort of Vampirism indicator.

I started going farther back, towards the corner, trailing my fingers over the spines of them. I was in the more classic book area. I could tell by the simplistic way the title was. It was written across the binding, rather than written along it, so that one wouldn't have to tilt their head to read it. The books were darker colors with the lettering in gold. Some of the tomes were a bit aged. I took a few out to see them and try to access their contents. I liked classic books for the gamble. There was no summary on the back or in the inside flap. There was nothing to warn you of what was to come. It was so exciting.

Then a book caught my eye and, unlike the others, there was no denying what it was. I could see the figure on the spine: a man with a magnifying glass, his head donned with a deerstalker. I smiled. The game was on.

"Just this, please."

The book store owner gave me a look before leaning forward on his stool. He peered up at me through his glasses, "Sherlock Holmes? Both of them?"

"Why not have all of the writings?"

I hadn't the slightest idea why he seemed to be judging me so harshly. He scanned the two bulky books and placed them in a paper bag.

_These will make me feel better,_ I thought as I walked back into the wind of the London street. It wasn't a mindless book choice; the content was surely to be invigorating. It would keep my brain going while allowing me to get lost in the world of Holmes and Watson.

I spent the afternoon reading both "A Study in Scarlet" and "The Sign of Four", and then opted to go back and read "A Study in Scarlet" again. I was so sufficiently lost, giggling at Watson as he berated Holmes for not caring about the solar system, that I was completely flabbergasted to look up and discover that it was dark outside.

All my effort is forgetting reality was wasted as my adventure in deduction came to a grinding halt and I remembered where I was not.

My breath hitched; what now? Did I go see him? Should I just not even bother?

It only took a few minutes to decide. It had begun raining and I did not feel like going through all of the effort it took to fly over the water and sneak into the prison.

Guilt seeped in: he was expecting me. He had been expecting me, probably wondering where I was. It appeared as though nothing else happened during his day. Crouch would be waiting on me to arrive.

Then again, our last meeting had been quite an upsetting one. It also wasn't as if I owed him anything. In fact, I owed him nothing. He owed me the lives of my friends and mentors and countless others who had died because of his actions.

Perhaps he expected me to stay away. Maybe he thought I would never return.

But I would; I had to. I had to know why he was alive.

He had teased me with the possibility that he had been _allowed_ to live. But even that was shrouded in mystery. It's not as if he had been specific on the details. He had mentioned Fudge; of course, a blunder from him was nothing surprising. Had he allowed Crouch to live? Why would he? It seemed completely barmy.

But I would find out eventually. For tonight, sleep was in order.

The next morning saw a bright sunny day, which I knew instantly because I had forgotten to close the curtains last night. I groaned, rolling over, to discover my body was dreadfully sore.

Suddenly, I realized I was not alone in the room.

I screamed and jumped out of bed, grabbing my wand and pointing it, only to realize how foolish I was being.

A patronus sat on my bed, a badger, looking at me. It cocked its head to the side and, for some reason, I instantly knew whose it was.

"Hermione," Crouch's voice came out from the badger's mouth, "I surely hope you didn't think I would let you get away with that. Only six days in and you are already skipping out on me—tsk tsk Ms. Granger. I am sure I'll see you bright and early tomorrow. Well, today, as you'll already be asleep. Just thought you should know, I get another question now. Try to remember not to cancel our date without telling me, or next time, I'll have my friend here apparate you to my location without a moment's thought. Good morning, Hermione. I'll see you soon."

Just like that, the badger vanished, and I roared as I turned my wand to the wall and blasted it, disappointed that it didn't leave a hole, or anything. It was just a black mark, quickly repaired with a lazy wave of my wand.

He had to die. I didn't care about anything anymore. Yesterday, he had practically said that he didn't care about the people that had died. He was selfish, wallowing in the misery of his imprisonment. Now, he had used a patronus to invade my home. He had completely disregarded all social norms and scolded me like a child for missing our appointment. He'd also called it a date.

I tried to be rational for a moment, and the instant I did, I realized an astonishing fact: Crouch had sent a patronus to my home using _wandless magic_.

Who was this man? How did he do that? I knew Dumbledore had been able to do wandless magic but, like most, was more powerful with his wand. What did that mean? Barty, for one, had been able to send a patronus at all. According to what had been found after the war, Snape had been the only Death Eater to be able to produce a patronus; except, that wasn't true at all now because I had evidence that there was at least one other Death Eater. For a brief moment, I wondered what he thought of when casting.

Then I went back to what he had just done and was, again, flabbergasted. How much magic had that taken? How long had the little silvery badger been there? It had also relayed so much. And he'd done it all from his cell. How had no one noticed that either?

That made up my mind. Off to Azkaban.

Crouch was sitting there, that irritating little smile on his face, obviously aware that I would be on my way.

"_Verum Dolere,_" I stalked at him, going right up to his bed, and pulled out my wand. The smile never faded from his face, even as he moved back against the wall to avoid getting stabbed by my wand. I stopped when my shins hit his bed frame and my wand was on his chest. It was awkward, but only for him, and his pain didn't bother me.

"Well, hello," he said, trying to be seductive. He obviously didn't realize, of all the times, this was not the day to cross me.

"No games," I ordered through clenched teeth, "how did you send a patronus to my house without being caught and for so long?"

He rolled his head back to let it set against the wall, giving me a beautifully clear shot at his throat, "That was quite the multi-layered question. Should that not count as more than one?"

I glared at him fiercely and poked my wand right under his chin, like he had that first day. Except this time, I had no hesitation in killing him. He sensed my rage and held his hands up.

"All right, all right, I sent the patronus to you through means you already know. It's difficult, but it's not impossible. I gave it instructions to wait until you were awake and standing to speak. Then I just waited until I got the alert that it had faded."

"I'm going to need more than that," I told him.

"What more?"

"Like how you managed to not get caught sending me a patronus in the dark of night. Those things tend to be a bit luminous."

"Not if you do it right."

I did not alter my expression, but inside I was floundering in confusion, "What do you mean?"

"Now that's two extra," he informed me, "I am under no obligation to share any more regarding this subject." He lowered his head, staring at me to make sure I understood. I nodded, one quick short nod, and waited.

"I've had years to perfect it," he explained, "part of that was learning to dim the partronus itself. It took me three years of fairly consistent practicing. I can only keep it dim for about ten minutes, but luckily that gets it far enough away from Azkaban that it will not attract any notice." He smiled softly, "I feel bad for Muggles; they always think it's a shooting star, don't they?"

I blushed; it had been one of the worst things I had learned as a witch: the shooting stars, the ones I had wished on repeatedly when I was a little girl, were actually someone's patronus flying through the air. Even in school, when science had explained them, I was not convinced. When I was forced to face the reality of it just being a patronus, I felt loss.

"Now, I would appreciate it if you would lower your wand," he requested.

Poignantly, I complied, keeping my eyes fixed on his in a battle of wills. Finally, I realized the closeness was uncalled for and turned away from him. I took two steps before the table and chairs appeared in front of me. I looked back at him. He had lost his playful grin, but instead had a very serious look about him. I took a deep breath and sat in my usual chair.

Two meetings in a row of absolute fury towards him. I needed to breathe. I needed to relax. This was surely unhealthy.

We stayed like that, me breathing and him waiting, for what seemed like twenty minutes.

"My turn?" he asked tentatively.

"Why not?" I sighed and took a drink of my tea.

"What are your parents like?"

It was a fairly straightforward question, and frankly one I shouldn't take offence to. Already being on edge, however, made me unnaturally hostile and I couldn't help but feel threatened.

"They were like everyone else's parents," I shrugged.

"Not to you," he pointed out.

"Maybe not," I spun my cuppa, turning the handle to left before turning it back, "they were good for me. They kept me honest, encouraged hard work, and loyalty. Both of them are dentists, which is rather tedious I suppose, but it made a very nice living. We went to church every Sunday together—then again, we did everything together: there were a lot of lovely family vacations. I remember, to reward me for how I was doing in school, they took me to this rather nice water park. My mother was absolutely in love with it, of course. She's always had a thing for water, despite how my father would taint its magic by pointing out the potential for germs and the like. My father is a practical man. Apparently, he was extremely anti-social when my mother met him at university. But she saw something in him and drew him out of it. Now they're the regular suburban dream of people, constantly donating to charities and church and keeping their grass cut just right. I lived very simply before I got my letter. They still live that way, only occasionally interrupted by current lifestyle."

Crouch smirked at me, "Sounds horribly boring."

I let a smile slip, possibly happier because I was thinking about my childhood, "A little bit. Except that time they took me to Disneyworld."

"In America?"

I giggled, "Obviously."

"The most magical place on earth," he mused.

"It really was when I was growing up."

"Did learning about magic…ruin it for you?"

"Yes," I told him, knowing there was no point in lying, "it did. Then again, it opened me to a world I had never even dreamed of. Sure, Disneyworld became something I could replicate with a few spells, but Hogwarts made Disneyworld seem like…like…" I struggled to find the right analogy.

"A second-rate, local carnival?"

"Yes!" I agreed, a little too excitedly.

"So it wasn't a total loss."

"Not entirely. I lost my childhood magic, but gained so much more."

He grinned, "You look so happy right now."

I just smiled back, "Don't think for a second that I'm not prepared to kill you."

Crouch narrowed his eyes, but kept smirking at me. We exchanged terrifying, happy smiles for a few moments. Both of us probably looked insane, me threatening to kill him and him daring me to do it, no words spoken but intents clear.

"It's my turn now," I pointed out.

"Yes, your personal question."

I had had an idea of what I was going to ask him, but then I remembered a fleeting thought earlier and curiosity overwhelmed me.

"What do you think of when you cast a patronus?"

No sooner were the words out of my mouth than his resolve fell. His face went from his overconfident smirk to one of complete fear. I felt victorious for a moment.

"I don't want to share that."

My mouth dropped, "Excuse me?"

"I am not going to tell you." He said, using a firmer form of his previous sentence.

"Ah, yes you are. You don't get to not tell me. I've never refused a question of yours."

"There's a first time for everything," he replied, promptly standing up. He waved his hand and the table and his chair disappeared. He gave me a warning look, so I stood up. The chair vanished instantly.

"No, you cannot do that."

"I say we get the option to not answer."

"No! Absolutely not!"

"Hermione, I am not answering this." He turned to face me, hands on his hips like a snotty school girl, but his face was stern.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to!"

"Not good enough!"

"Too personal."

"Crouch!"

"Fine!" He yelled at me. He took several moments before he spoke again, "I think of a time in school."

I went to challenge his vague answer, but I didn't need to. He was suddenly shrieking in pain, a quick yelp, and he held his neck. I raised my eyebrow, smiling.

"Do you, now?"

Crouch tried to regain his composure, then spoke again, "I think…of my childhood."

He shrieked again and held onto his elbow.

"Your childhood?" I mocked.

He turned his gaze towards me, his face soft and his eyes looking like melted chocolate, "Does that count as another question?" he said breathily.

I groaned and stood up, annoyed with him, but suddenly there was a hand on mine. I froze, moving only my head to look at my hand. His fingers were barely touching the back of my hand, but they might as well have been clinging desperately. My breath faltered and I turned my gaze to his. Again, his eyes were sweet, but his face looked like a child pleading for forgiveness. I sat back down.

"I didn't want to tell you what I thought of to create a patronus," he confessed, "it…is not something I like talking about, even admitting it to myself."

"Why?"

"Because it hurts."

For the third time, we spent a few moments just gazing at each other, but this time it was utter sadness. Finally, he spoke, looking back to the ground—my eyes never left his face.

"The memory that produces the most powerful patronus, and the one I have been using for the past several years, is the last memory of my mother that I have. It's her face. It's her face the moment after she told my father, resolutely, that she would not let her beloved son die in this prison. My father had been so shocked when she brought out the two batches of polyjuice potion. He had been awestruck. I had been, too. She looked me in the eyes and told me her plan, and I knew it would work, but I was practically inconsolable. My mother, my dear mother, was dying and she wanted to spend her last days taking my place in this godforsaken hell hole," Crouch's voice cracked, but he continued, "I just remember her face, just communicating all the love in her heart, when she told me and my father that, despite everything I had done, she still loved me and that she wanted to give me a second chance. Hell knows I didn't deserve it. I didn't deserve anything. I still don't. But my mother loved me, and that is all that will ever matter."

He kept his face neutral, but I could feel his sorrow pouring off him, "I think I use that as a patronus so I never forget that, while I am complete shit, my mother loved me. She sacrificed her last moments of life, when she could have been travelling the world, rotting away in a cell. The worst part is…here I am…again. She did all of that, and I ended up back in here. Because of my anger towards my father. There are only two good things that have come from it. One, I have grown up exponentially since I've been stuck here. That happens when you have nothing to do but think. Two, I can visit my mum now. That's why I use that memory. I send my patronus down to her grave on the grounds and let it visit her at night. No one sees it; it's too far away to be noticed. But I can feel her when my patronus is down there. It's like I can feel her soul. It's like she's still here, watching over me. That thought alone keeps me alive. I want to, one day, leave here and start over, even if it means a Muggle style life. I'd do it. I want to make her proud."

He met my eyes, "I know it seemed like I was being selfish last time, talking about my own suffering. But it's not that. I know what I did. I paved the way for the agony of hundreds if not thousands of people. It is my fault he came back, and I will never forgive myself. But sometimes, in the really dark times, I get upset that my plans were messed up because then I wouldn't be here. I would not be disappointing my mother again. I would not be back to the place she fought so hard to get me out of. Sure, I might still be a psychopathic murderer, but sometimes it seems better than being absolutely nothing."

Two minutes passed. I could hardly breathe. I felt small lines of wetness on my cheeks, and I realized that I had started crying softly. He seemed to be fighting back the tears, which did not surprise me.

I was so conflicted. This is the man who was responsible for the death of so many people, and yet I could barely hang on to that thought. Like Barty had done earlier, I was desperately clinging to my hatred of him. I was failing miserably, my grip slipping. I stood up, keeping my back to him. I tried to get my breathing back to normal. I wiped my cheeks and then turned to him.

His eyes met mine and any words I thought about saying were gone. I had no idea what to do now. I had wanted to thank him for telling me, but thanking wasn't enough. Instead, I leaned down and gently kissed his cheek. I heard him inhale sharply, his body going rigid with shock. That was completely acceptable, because I was just as shocked at myself.

I stood back up straight and then pivoted, leaving his cell. Just before the door slid shut, I heard him. He choked out a sob, and then I could make out the sound of his incredible, gut-wrenching cries. I got to my broom and apparated as soon as I could, breaking down the moment my feet touched my carpet. I pushed myself far enough to get to my bed. I let myself cry until sleep took me.

Barty Crouch Jr was more complicated than I ever could have imagined. And it hurt so much.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Sorry it's been so long! Between running a karate school and my grandfather getting married, I've been running around a lot. But take comfort in knowing there are at least five more chapters written after this one. Plus, I'll have a lot more time to write in this next week. Thank you SOOOO MUCH for all the support!**_

_**Feel free to leave nice reviews or critique or whatever you feel like doing! I hope I'm keeping it interesting for you!**_

When I woke up the next morning I didn't even hesitate. I got up and left.

Whatever it was that had happened the day before, I wanted to keep it that way. It wasn't volatile. It was wonderful. Perhaps I could get something deeper, maybe something more personal out of him today.

I knew what I would ask. It would be about his father.

For how much he seemed to love his mother, and it seemed he loved her very much, he equally (if not more so) hated his father. He'd had no qualms about, not just murdering him, but transfiguring him into a bone and burying him in the ground.

But he'd loved his mother. He'd loved his mother so deeply that he had been barely able to keep himself from sobbing in front of me.

How was it possible for someone so evil to love so deeply?

_Love, Hermione; it drives everything. Sometimes, it even drives us to do things we never would dream of doing._

Harry's words echoed in my head, suddenly, from a few days after the war ended. We had tried to pick the pieces up; Harry, Ron, and me. We were just sitting there, saying nothing, drinking coffee. Then I'd heard Ron ask the question we had all been thinking:

"Why?"

Harry and I had looked up at him.

"Why would anyone do this?"

"I don't know," I'd answered.

"I get You-Know-Who," Ron clarified, "he was just…evil. There was no point to him, really. He just hated."

"It wasn't hate," Harry cut in, "it was lack of love. Tom was never loved. In the absence of love, he turned to all he knew: anger, hate, and rage. He took it out on the people who he'd received all of the hate from."

We'd just sat there, again, in silence. All I could do was think. My God, how did Harry live? Here he saw empathy; a man who was responsible for the death of almost everyone he'd ever cared for, and he felt sorry for him.

"But what about the others? I mean, Lucius Malfoy did so much, and for what? He killed so many people for a psychopath!" Ron spoke out.

"Did you ever think about how long Malfoy knew Tom?" Harry pointed out, "Probably long before Tom became Voldemort. By then, Tom would have had so much on Malfoy. He would have been his best friend. If Malfoy wasn't just following him as his friend, it was because when no one was looking, Tom threatened him. He threatened him with his wife, and more likely his son. Despite it all, we know Lucius loves Draco."

"He _killed_ people, Harry," I said, "Voldemort was evil, pure evil, from lack of love, but Malfoy knew love. Why would he even consider killing the sons of other men when he had a son of his own?"

"Because Tom would have threatened to kill Draco, and Lucius loved him. Don't you get it? Love, Hermione; it drives everything. Sometimes it drives us to do things we would never dream of doing. Voldemort isn't loved, so he hates. Lucius loves his son, so in order to protect him, he kills other people. In order to beat evil, I use love. Love drives everything. It's the strongest magic of them all."

As the depth of Harry's soul faded from my mind, I realized I didn't want to ask Barty about his father. It would stir up anger in him, and I didn't want that.

It was getting harder and harder to remember that this was the same man that had tortured Neville's parents to insanity.

I groaned, wanting to punch Harry.

Azkaban had already become too familiar to me. I entered his cell and immediately got the shock of my life.

"OI! YOU'VE BEEN KNOCKING LATELY!"

I turned towards the door before he'd uttered his first words. My face flushed. I swore like a half-wit giant to myself. I was very lucky, I supposed, that he'd been facing away. Regardless, I was already trying to burn the image from my mind. My energy was being completely depleted from every other part of me so I could forget that I'd just gotten a lovely view of Barty Crouch Jr's posterior. The toned back with the two little lines I had not seen on anyone before, the strong calves (I had a thing for those), and of course, his…arse.

I was trying even harder not to recognize the moment of _Wow that's nice_ that had gone through my head before rational thought came to me.

My face was hot, but I took a deep breath to relax.

"Calm down, Hermione," I whispered, keeping my voice soft, "It's just a man's naked arse. It's not the end of the world. It may have been nice, but it's still the arse of the enemy."

"The enemy?" I heard Crouch say behind me, "that's a little harsh."

I peaked cautiously over my shoulder, before turning, as he was dressed fully. His clothes were still the ones Azkaban gave prisoners, and I was confused. He could make a lavish couch, but his clothes and bed remained tattered.

"How did you hear me?"

"You're standing against the door and, for some reason, that makes the sound echo a bit."

I went crimson again.

He grinned, "It's ok. I know I have a nice arse."

"Bugger off."

"Oh, now, that's uncalled for."

I felt myself smirking, trying to hold back friendly laughter. Instead, I just sat down in the chair he'd already conjured.

"I felt like switching it up a bit," he smiled, and I looked down to see hot chocolate in a mug sitting on the table.

"Did you just learn to do that?"

He took a sip of his and nodded, "Yeah. I worked on it last night."

I let myself smile, "How many tries did it take?"

Barty giggled, "Well," he paused, "couldn't have been more than five. Maybe ten. Twenty? A little over twenty. I wanted to get the heat just right and the chocolate saturated perfectly."

"Well, it is perfect. Congratulations."

He raised his mug to me and I returned the gesture. For a moment, we just sat there, content.

"How did you beat me?" I said out of the blue.

"Come again?"

"In school?"

"Easy. Contrary to popular belief, I was not a hellion in school. I did every assignment, never once missed a class, aced every test given. You have to remember I had extremely strict parents, not a lot of friends, and no demented loony trying to kill my best friend. Not too many distractions."

I stared at him for a moment before giggling. I couldn't believe he'd just made a crack at that. He must have been feeling extra friendly. Barty was smiling away.

"I suppose that makes sense," I conceded, "I mean, when you have nothing else to do."

"You were close though!" he complimented, "You beat Snape."

"Professor Snape. And yes, but I wasn't bullied like he was. I'm sure that took a toll."

Barty looked at me, open-mouthed for a second. Then I realized why.

"No point in calling him that anymore, is there?"

Barty shook his head, his face a bit sad, "No, I think he deserves more than that. I knew he was a bint sometimes, but he was doing so much for so many people and there was no reason for it. He just did it."

I let out a huff of a laugh, "Love."

"Love?"

"He loved Harry's mother. He loved her his entire life, practically, and his school day's tormentor went and married her."

"How do you know all of this?"

"When he was dying, Snape let his memories slip out and Harry saw them in Dumbledore's pensive. When the war officially ended, and the only Death Eater's left were harmless, Harry came forward to defend him."

"So you did win?"

"Win what?"

"The war. You did win the war?"

I was taken aback, "Yes we won. How can you not know?"

"Details I hear are never clear."

"How do you know about Professors Dumbeldore and Snape being dead, then?"

"You hear things; bits and pieces slip through. There was never any solid confirmation. It's hard to keep track when you hear about deaths on the side of the light and then Death Eaters screaming about impending victory."

"I see. Well, no. The Death Eaters lost. Harry killed Voldemort."

Barty nodded, "Good."

If I was taken aback before, I was even more so now, "Good?"

"Fantastic, really."

"What? You were a Death Eater. Why does their loss make you happy?"

"Not my loss! Hello! Look at where it made me end up, working for that mad man? Oh my God, whenever we had Death Eater dinners, if the food wasn't to his liking, he threw it. Like a toddler! That thing leading the world? Horrid thought. I hated that bastard."

Without warning, we were off and laughing. We laughed for so long that it took me a moment to realize that he'd just told me he hadn't even liked Voldemort.

He hadn't liked him and didn't want him to win.

My brain went crazy, running in all different directions, and I went to ask him another question, when my wand shot out yellow sparks.

Barty flinched, "What the hell?"

"Someone's in my flat," I told him. I stood up, "someone I haven't authorized. I have to go."

And I left without a second thought. It was only as I was flying to the nearest spot to apparate when a few things hit me.

One, when I'd talked about him being a Death Eater, it had been in the past tense.

Two, he'd looked horribly sad when I stood to leave.

Three, we'd never even cast _Verum Delore._

For some reason, that didn't bother me. I would have to figure that out later. Right now, I had an intruder to deal with.

Or rather, an intruder had to deal with me.

Panic was spreading through me. As I grabbed my broom from the shadows and flew off, my wand let out another set of red sparks. Whoever it was, they were still in the flat. I leaned as far down as I could, trying to get to the barrier of apparation as quickly as possible. Then, with a surge of genius I hadn't known I possessed, I decided a little theatricality was in order. I flew up as high as I could, just under the clouds. Just as I got there, I sat up on my broom, and then stopped it. I took the broom in my hand and let myself start falling.

It was exhilarating. The wind rushed past my ears, and everything else was silent. I looked around at the city below me, the lights reflecting off the river. It was stunning, really. I reveled in the feeling of weightlessness that contradicted the fact that gravity was having its way with me. Then I remembered my plan. Thinking about the three D's, I held my wand up and apparated.

The first thing I saw was the intruder's frightened face as I crashed onto my floor. It had been dramatic; the fall having made me appear as though I had dropped into the flat. My hair was wild around me, and I had landed in a crouched position. It had also, for some reason, caused the air to stir around me. I looked up at the person, though keeping my head down. There was no doubt in my mind that I looked completely terrifying.

Then I realized who it was.

"Malfoy?" I stood up.

Draco looked petrified, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to break in."

"What the hell? How did you get past my wards?"

"There weren't any," he informed me.

My God, had I left in _that_ much of a hurry?

"What are you doing here?"

"Um…I talked to Harry."

I sighed. I had forgotten that Harry and Draco had become good friends.

"So?"

"I felt like…we should talk."

Guilt washed over me. He was probably here to talk about Lucius.

"What about?"

"Well, you _did_ break into Azkaban to see my father. I haven't even seen him."

I nodded unconsciously, "Um, why don't you sit down? I'll make us some tea."

Draco obliged and sat down in my couch. He looked horribly uncomfortable, though that was understandable.

"Do you take milk in your tea?"

"Ah, no, thank you."

I stayed in the kitchen, even when I knew I had a chance to go out there. I had to think. God, how cruel I was. Draco was here to talk about his father and I would have to lie to his face and pretend I felt guilty for Lucius.

Then again, the more I tried to prepare myself, the more I began to actually feel remorse for Mr. Malfoy's condition. It was true that he was a bastard. He had been an absolute bully, even when we were little kids. He'd been rude and horrid. Then he'd been downright evil.

However, Harry had reminded me (again, in my head) that Lucius was undoubtedly being threatened. I remembered how tired he had looked towards the end of the War; his hair had lost its luster and his eyes were heavy with bags and his skin pasty. He'd lost weight too, the previously obvious muscular form diminished.

I would have to go see him now. I knew that much.

"Here you go," I handed Draco his tea. He'd been sitting in my living room for quite some time now. The poor man was probably feeling extremely awkward. We hadn't even said two words to each other in five years, other than passing greetings, and Ron's funeral.

"So why did you go see him?" he started.

Here we went again: twenty questions with a former Death Eater.

"I honestly don't know," I said, "I just sort of went. I was glad I did."

"Harry said you apologised."

"Yes. Even before I started really analyzing everything, I thought his verdict was unjust. Then when I started thinking about how he had grown up with Voldemort and was probably threatened by him and I realized how hard it must have been for you father."

"Don't," Draco closed his eyes and held his hand up, "my father had plenty of chances to get out, and he didn't. He was weak."

"Voldemort probably threatened to kill you, Draco. If your father had ever refused and tried to run, Voldemort would have killed you."

"That is really no excuse."

Surprisingly, I found myself irritated, "I believe Voldemort did the same to you with your mother so you would kill Dumbledore. You were pretty eager to do that."

"And I was wrong. I should have let myself and my mother be killed."

My eyes were wide, "You…but…"

"It's all in the past now, and it all happened for a reason. I am glad I made that mistake because now I have a chance to make up for all of it. But my father's debts were too heavy for this lifetime or the next."

"That's not very fair of you to say," I was getting agitated now.

"It's very fair. It's more than fair."

"I don't care. I went to see him, and I would do it again."

"No! Don't! You're wasting your time with him."

"I am not! I have…you've no idea what I've accomplished visiting Azkaban."

"You've gone more than once?"

I froze. I was giving myself away, forgetting that he meant Lucius and not Barty.

"So what if I had?"

"Don't go again. He is a waste of time. Death Eaters from his age should be burned alive.

I stood up, suddenly feeling protective, "What makes you think for a moment that you get to be the judge of that?"

"Because I lived with him, Granger!" Draco shouted, standing up to challenge me, "I lived with the bloody man for my entire life. Him leaving at the end of the war not for concern for his family, but for his cowardice. He deserved the Dark Lord torturing him and he deserved his soul being sucked from his body. If you don't remember, he almost killed your friend Ginny in an attempt to bring an already confirmed mad man back into power. And not just back into power, but bring him back to life as a young, vibrant sixteen year old with a replenished life span. Voldemort would have lived for at _least_ one hundred more years. Not only that, but he would have had a charming face that most people, save maybe Dumbledore, would not remember. He could have wormed his way in and then grabbed the entire Wizarding world by the throat. This would have been because my father dropped a book into Weasley's cauldron. I haven't mentioned the many, many people Lucius has tortured, raped, and killed. You can try and defend him and say that Voldemort would have forced him, but he didn't. Lucius loved the power play. His favorite sport was telling my mother all about it and watching her face contort with disgust. My poor mother who had fallen in love with the man she was forced to marry, only to discover that he was the vilest piece of work on this side of the world. And he tried to instill the same disease in me, and he almost succeeded. When you came to my house and he tried to get me to confirm that it was Harry, it wasn't because he just wanted us to be in good favor of Voldemort to keep us safe. It was because if we were in good favor, he could go back to his vulgar escapades. No, Hermione, I have no sympathy for him and neither should you. If it weren't for me, you would have been another one of his victims. When Bellatrix had you writhing on the floor, that itch to take you for his own was boiling up inside of him. If I hadn't convinced him that Voldemort would probably kill him and told him he was too weak to try anyways, you would have been another conquest of his. You'd be a victim. Think about that, and tell me you feel sorry for him."

Draco went silent for a moment, and then his breathing faltered. He sat down on the couch, and I watched as the Draco Malfoy that had bullied me in my school years became Draco; a broken child, his whole life an absolute misery, demons chasing him to rival Harry's. His hands were covering his face in shame. He looked like a moving statue, his clearly expensive, black suit hugging his body. His skin looked like marble, pale but taut. I watched as he transformed into a man, hurt by his father and hurt by his bloodline.

I knelt down in front of him and took his hands away from his face. His eyes were shining, a mix of silver and blue, his face wet. I brought my hand up to his cheeks, wiping his tears away. He tried to fight it, at first, but eventually stopped resisting. I made light shushing noises and continued to clean his face. He suddenly took my wrist in his hand, his grip strong. I met his eyes.

"Why did you feel sorry for him at all?" he asked me.

I shrugged, "There is always more than just a murderer. I suppose I tried to see a better in him than there was. It's naïve of me, I guess, to believe the best in people."

Draco half-smiled and tilted his head to the side a bit, "No it's not Hermione. It's actually rather amazing. It's sweet, it's kind, it's brave, it's…it's…it's Gryffindor of you."

We laughed lightly for a moment together, the whole world seeming to be upside down, before he leaned in and gently kissed my lips.

I didn't react, which was ok, as he pulled back almost instantly. His eyes searched my face for some sort of indicator that I was offended—I showed none. He leaned in again and this time I kissed him back. For a few seconds we kissed lightly and I recognized how absolutely mad this was. But when he kissed me again, a tiny bit harder this time, I didn't even care. His hand released my wrist and instead went to the back of my neck, pulling me closer to him.

The direction of our actions became very clear when I felt his tongue touch my bottom lip.

Without warning, I saw something flash in my mind. I wasn't sure what it was, but it disturbed me, and I felt uneasy. There was something wrong about what I was doing.

I pulled back, quick enough to see the hurt in Draco's eyes.

"No, don't," I tried to smile, "I just, um, I think maybe we should go out for coffee first."

He laughed, albeit a bit nervously, "Leave it to Granger to be a prude."

"Hey," I lightly hit his arm, "proud of it."

"All right," he smiled and stood up. Realizing my current position, I very quickly did the same.

"You owe me coffee," he said to me as I held the door for him.

"I owe you? I don't think so!"

"You don't just get to kiss me without paying up!"

"What! You kissed me! You're lucky I don't kill you for that."

"Hey, you don't get to kiss me _and_ kill me. That's not right!"

I froze and felt heat rising into my face.

_Kill me or kiss me._

"Right," I nodded, "I'll see you then."

"You most definitely will, Hermione," Draco smirked and turned. He disappeared, leaving me alone in my doorway.

_Kill me or kiss me._

"Oh my God," I covered my face in embarrassment. That had been the initial deal. And I had already done it. I'd kissed him. I'd kissed Crouch. It was only on the cheek, but I still had done it.

Speaking of kissing, what the _hell_ had I just done? Draco Malfoy? I must be going insane! What was wrong with me? Why did I keep kissing Death Eaters?

Well, at least I hadn't been considering sleeping with Barty.

I banged my head on the wall.

_Someone_, I thought, _should just kill me._


	12. Chapter 12

_**Here's another one! Let me know what you think!**_

"So who was it?" Barty asked, sitting on his bed, as I walked back into his cell. He didn't even seem fazed by the fact that I had come back the same day.

"Who was what?"

"Who got into your house? Are you in trouble? Ministry court hearing about why you can't just kill people who invade your house?"

"Oh come on, I would have full rights to kill someone who broke into my house."

"So you did kill them then?"

"No! It was Draco Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" Barty looked at me with an absolutely horrified expression, "that's Lucius' boy! Are you ok?"

"Yes I'm fine!"

"You're lucky to be! He's dangerous!"

"He's not his father, Barty. He's quite safe, I can assure you."

"Safe, my arse," Barty came back, then grinned, "safe, my very nice arse."

"Oh dear God, are you going to let that go?"

"Nope."

"Great."

"That boy is not of the good sort."

"Draco is a gentleman.

"If I remember correctly, he's actually a ferret."

"What?"

"A bouncy, white, little ferret."

I paused and then erupted in a ridiculous bout of laughter. Luckily, Barty had joined me and I felt less foolish.

"Oh my God, that was you!" I choked out, "I never even thought about that!"

"Yeah, that was me!"

"Thinking back about it, you were…" I trailed off and came to a stunning realization.

"What?"

"Wow."

"What? What is it?"

"You were the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had," I said, more to secure that fact for myself than explain it to him.

"Really?" he looked completely flabbergasted.

"Yes, actually. I mean, the first two were obviously trash. And the fifth year the only DADA teacher we had was Harry. Dolores Umbridge is not what I would call a professor."

"You had Remus Lupin in your third year," Barty reminded me.

"Oh, he was marvelous, don't get me wrong!" I said quickly, "I suppose it is just the fact that when you came in, you taught us how to fight. You taught us how to defend ourselves. It was the first time we weren't just talking about frightening beasts or the escapades of the past. We were learning actual defence against the dark arts. You prepared us more for the War than anyone else did. Which is odd, considering that you _were_ the 'dark wizard' type that you were teaching us to defend ourselves from."

"Irony at its finest," he smiled, "but what about Snape?"

"Professor Snape seemed to really focus on the horror of it. I know he was just trying to prepare us for things we would see, but we needed to know how to fight."

"I feel rather special," Barty grinned, wiggling in his seat like a child. I felt myself crack a smile.

"Did you enjoy teaching us?"

Barty nodded vigorously, "Oh I very much did. I lost myself so much in that role that sometimes I completely forgot why I was there. I loved it. I don't even know why. I just did. It was amazing! You guys were scared at first, but then you became so eager to learn more and to really train yourselves. There was something about your faces when you succeeded. Even the smug ones were unable to help themselves from looking up at me with unbidden ecstasy."

My heart went soft, knowing exactly what he was talking about, "It's wonderful, isn't it?"

Barty's wide grin fell a second, but the ghost of his smile stayed, "I think if I had done the right things, I would be a teacher. Hell, if I could get out today that would be what I would want to do. I would even train myself in what the Muggles learn if I had to."

"That's not something I would ever expect to hear from you," I admitted.

"If I could hear me, my past self would kill me," he smirked.

"Probably," I conceded. I was doing it again: forgetting why I was here. It was strange to hear him say it; that he had sometimes gotten so wrapped up in teaching that he would let slip his objective.

"Did your passion for teaching make it you reconsider your objective?"

Barty opened his mouth to answer, but then shut it.

"What?" I pressed.

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, it did. There were many nights I stayed up thinking about it. All I would have to do was wipe Alastor's memory and then take on a new persona of some sort. No one would remember me. I was no one." He seemed bitter about it, suddenly.

"You weren't no one to Voldemort."

He huffed out an angered laugh, "Yes I was."

"What were you to him?"

"You're out of questions."

His response had been so quick, like he was expecting me to ask.

"So are you."

"Am I, though?"

"Yes. You asked me about Snape and if we won the war."

"I did earlier, just like you asked me about the hot chocolate and how I beat you in school. However, you came back. To me, that resets us. You asked if I enjoyed teaching and if I thought about forgetting my objective. I asked who was at your house. I have one question left."

I found myself pouting like a child a bit, "Damn."

"You'll have questions to ask tomorrow, so—" Abruptly, he stopped.

I stared at him a second, "Barty?"

"You can't go back to your flat."

"I, what?"

"You can't go back. Malfoy was able to get in. Anyone can."

"I had forgotten to set up my wards. It's ok."

"Look, forgive me, but I don't trust the boy. Not since I saw him try to attack Potter from behind. I am sure the War has changed him, but anyone with the genes of Lucius Malfoy running through them is more dangerous than I ever was."

"Crouch, I can assure you, Draco has no plans to hurt me." I felt myself blushing, and tried to push it down, but it was a bit too late. Barty's eyes had been on mine since I had used his last name again.

"You're blushing."

"Am I?" I feigned confusion.

"You're thinking of Draco Malfoy and blushing," he stated.

"That's not intentional."

"It never is."

"It's nothing," I waved my hand, but then I felt it: the pain. It was sharp on my side and I tried to prevent it from showing, but failed miserably. How was there pain? I had cast it earlier…

Ah yes, I remembered, I had invented it to last a minimum of three hours.

Barty stood up and stared at me critically. He stepped closer, looking at my face. I was already leaning against the wall adjacent to his bed, so I had nowhere to go. How many times had we done this dance?

"What are you doing?" I asked him.

"That's another question, Hermione."

"Crouch, seriously. You're scaring me a bit."

He smirked, "All right then. I'll tell you what I'm doing: I am thinking carefully of how to word my next question. I won't have you diverting it in some Slytherin sort of word play. We'll leave that to the professional."

"Meaning you?"

His smirk became more pronounced, and he was now a mere six inches away from me. Barty looked down at me, my face still flushed and narrowed his eyes.

"Have you ever kissed Draco Malfoy?"

My eyes went wide, but then I crossed my arms, almost touching his chest, "That's none of your business."

"Don't play that game with me," he glared, "Have you?"

I toyed with the idea of lying, but my spell would catch me. I cursed myself.

"Yes." I finally answered. Barty abruptly took in a sharp breath through his nose.

"Today?"

I groaned, "Yes."

He then hissed through his teeth before continuing with his second evaluation:

"How many times before today?"

"Never." I answered proudly.

For a moment, neither of us did anything. Barty was looking at my face, analyzing something. I was trying to be resilient in my pride.

"It was a trick, Hermione."

"What?"

"It's a ploy. It's a game of some sort to lower your defences. He's not trustworthy."

"You don't know that."

"He is a Malfoy. That is all I need know."

"Why does that justify your accusations?"

"You don't know how Lucius was," he snapped, his face leaning down, getting too close to mine. I kept my arms crossed.

"In fact, I do. Draco told me. He yelled at me, actually, to tell me how very much not worthy of sympathy his father was."

"Why would he do that?"

I looked away from him, and shuffled my position, careful not to step on Barty's bare feet, "I sort of told Harry that I came here to apologize to Lucius for his fate."

"Why would you tell Harry that?"

"Because I got caught the first time, that's how! Because I was terrified of the raging lunatic that had screamed me out of his cell. Because I got caught crying in the hallway somehow and they sent Harry to question me about it. I guess Draco got wind and wanted to tell me why I shouldn't have bothered with his father at all."

"You were crying?" Barty said, and I dared look at his face. Sure enough, his expression was a sympathetic, like he really did care that he'd made me cry.

"Of course I did. It was horrifying and you know it."

Barty's face went stern again, "Draco is absolutely right. Lucius deserves less than nothing."

"Well, I see that now. That he didn't run from the battle to protect his family but out of cowardice and that he wasn't as submissive to Voldemort because he didn't want to put them in harm's way. H e wanted to play again. I get it."

"I'm sorry," Barty said suddenly, and I realized that, while I had been yelling at him, I had gotten close enough to feel his breath when he spoke. I leaned back, taking in a big gulp of air.

"Why?"

"You've asked a lot of questions, you know."

"So have you, so why don't you just answer one more?"

I lowered my arms and looked up at him expectantly, "Why are you sorry?"

Barty looked away from me, staring into space, "Everything."

"What does that mean?"

"No, let's not do that," he looked back at me, "Questions are done."

I groaned, but lowered my arms. Swiftly, I moved along the wall and towards the door. He did not even flinch, instead focusing his eyes on the bare wall in front of him. I turned around and removed my wand from my sleeve to open the door.

"Wait!"

His desperate cry made me look back. Barty had turned to face me, and his arm was outstretched, reaching weakly.

"I…I would like to ask a very generous favour of you."

I turned my body towards him completely, putting my hands on my hips, "Is that so?"

"Please, Hermione," Barty said, and suddenly I noticed how absolutely broken he looked, "It's just something I haven't had in…decades."

I tried to think of what he could possibly be asking for, but could not imagine what it was, "Okay. What?"

"I…I…" he stumbled, lowering his head. I saw a hint of pink of his cheeks, "I would like to ask…"

"Barty?" I pressed. He met my eyes a second, but then lowered them again. He seemed almost embarrassed.

"Would you…I would appreciate it if…"

"Barty!"

"A hug!" he spat out.

If three unicorns had appeared in the room wearing yellow raincoats and juggling picture frames, I would have been less surprised.


	13. Chapter 13

_**OH MY GOSH it has been so long since I've updated and I sincerely apologize. I've been doing some writing for another fandom (the Sherlock fandom, as you can see on my page) but I am in love with where this story is going to go and I absolutely have NOT given up on this. My updates will be more frequent very soon.**_

_**Now this chapter is going to seem rather random and sporadic, but I can assure you…there are plans…MUWAHAHAHAHHAA**_

_**Ok anyways here ya go!**_

"What?" I said finally.

"I would like a hug!"

"A what?"

Barty looked totally ashamed of himself and equally frustrated, "A real, human embrace! Please!"

I was genuinely astonished. I could not believe the words I was hearing.

But was it really so surprising? This man had spent the last two decades and then some of his life with the coldest of people and in a cell. He had not had human contact in ages. I thought back to all of the times I had ever touched him or vice versa and my heart broke. How had that felt?

And Laura, his guard, had obviously never been able to touch him, or else she would have certainly. That fact stung: the only woman Barty had ever loved was unable to touch him. My heart began to crack even further.

It shattered moments later, when Barty's hand dropped, and I heard his voice break:

"I just…I know I always seem to get close to you, unnaturally close, but you've no idea how it feels. You have no idea how wonderful it is to just be near a human being. I mean, when I put my hand over your mouth it was for a very solid reason, but even that I could have…I could have cried. It was just so amazing. I know you hate me, Hermione, and you have so many reasons to, but I beg you. I would just…please, Hermione. Please."

The seconds ticked by. I could almost hear a clock. I stood there, trying to decide what to do. I tried to imagine what it must be like, not ever being near anyone for so many years. I couldn't do it. I looked up at him. If this stretch of silence was hard for me, it must be unbearable for him.

Then I didn't know what to do.

He'd killed people. He'd killed his father. He'd killed Muggles and Muggleborns. He had brought the Dark Lord back, who had killed even more. Harry had described his as deranged and downright mad, and she had without a doubt seen that side of him.

And yet.

He cried when he thought of his mother and how disappointed she would be. He'd fallen in love with a woman, despite her appearance, and had loved her so much that he had not wanted to speak after she had died. He admitted to not wanting Voldemort to win. He spoke of teaching children and looked so utterly jubilant that he could be a child himself. He was almost protective when I told him it had been Draco in my flat.

He was so desperate to just be held that he had thrived on simply standing close and fleeting touches and was begging me for a simple hug.

I thought of how shocked he had been when I had offered to shake his hand. That was the first time someone had voluntarily touched him in almost ten years.

As that revelation hit, my reaction was instant. I strode purposely forward. His head went up, his eyes wide, as I stopped right in front of him. I looked up determinedly at him, meeting his eyes. I remembered when I had first seen those deep, chocolate eyes. They were bright now, shining with the threat of tears. His face, that boyish face, still sometimes amazed me. His mouth parted a fraction, and a breath he was holding in released.

Then very carefully, I wrapped my arms around his back and pressed myself against him.

For a second, he did nothing. I found myself feeling his body through his clothes, noting the solid sensation. I could make out his stomach on mine and truly tell how toned he was. He was like a stone almost. I let my hand move down from his shoulder blades to the small of his back. He was obviously muscular, but I felt myself smiling at the give of his skin. Barty Crouch Jr was definitely human.

And then his arms wrapped around my neck and he held me tightly and I heard him let out a small whimper as he silently cried. His body shook with his tears. I pulled myself even closer then, just wanting him to really feel that I was there. His cheek rested on my head.

I don't know how long we stood there in such a strong embrace, but I knew it had to be over two minutes. For some reason, I didn't even care.

"Hermione?" he whispered, his voice breaking.

"Hm?"

"Please, tonight, find somewhere else to go? For me?"

"For you?"

"For you too," he insisted, "I don't trust him and I never will."

I pulled away from him slowly, not wanting to hurt his feelings, "Am I really getting advice from a dangerous Death Eater to avoid another dangerous Death Eater?"

Barty smiled softly at me, "Yes, I suppose you are."

I nodded and lowered my arms, Barty copying my movements. He seemed…lighter, if that was possible. Like his posture had shifted ever so slightly into that he seemed like he was floating. It actually made me…happy.

"I'll talk to Luna. Maybe she and Harry will house me for the night."

"Luna Lovegood? And…Harry Potter?"

"Oh yes. They got together a little after…well Ginny and Harry didn't entirely work out as planned…" I trailed off, "Anyways, I really have to go now."

"Of course. Thank you." He nodded, seeming a bit shy then, and sat down on his cot.

Nodding once, I turned back to the door. I would listen to him. I would go to Luna's.

If anyone would be able to help me with what my brain was doing, it would be her.

"Hermione; I've been expecting you," Luna said as soon as she opened the door, leaving me completely stunned. I hadn't even knocked yet.

"Well…yes—have you?" I asked in a stumbling rush as she ushered me inside quickly. She motioned towards her living room, and the familiar blue walls, painted and moving like the sky on a summer day (or rather, on a _nice _summer day, as this day it was choosing to rain outside).

"I take it Harry is out today?"

"Work, you know," she said airily, the tea pouring itself as she waved her wand, "do you like milk with your tea?"

"Yes, please," I nodded, feeling an odd sensation of déjà vu.

"I'm sure you're here to talk about why you've been taking trips to Azkaban," Luna said, bluntly and to the point, sitting down and smiling at me in her way.

"I…I didn't—"

"Exchanging pleasantries is terribly boring sometimes, wouldn't you agree? Besides, as Harry and I have come to realize, life is too short not get straight to the point."

I went vacant before nodding slowly, "Right, well then yes. I am, actually."

"Of course. Your head is swarming right now with Obengales."

"Obengales?"

"Yes. They're little fireflies that glow clear, but they come around a lot when you are conflicted. I must say there appears to be a great many of them near your ears."

I had the desire to swat at these supposed invisible pests, but just tried to keep my breathing normal.

"How did you know I'd gone back to Azkaban?" I asked as Luna handed me my tea.

"Harry told me you went to see Lucius Malfoy but that you'd been caught crying the hallway," she explained, "I figured you wouldn't have been satisfied with your visit if you didn't leave feeling better about things."

I let myself nod, "That's a good guess."

"And I am assuming you discovered that Barty Crouch Jr was alive."

My tea got caught in my throat and I started coughing. She waited, ever so patient, as I tried to speak, my face red.

"I'm sorry?"

"Don't worry. I didn't tell Harry that he was alive."

"You didn't? How did you even know that?"

"I knew about it all those years ago. I saw the Minister sneaking him out of the castle with dementors behind him. They tried to obliviate me, but that hasn't worked for years." She sipped her tea. Her silence told me everything I needed to know: whatever the reason was that obliviate didn't work had something to do with her mother's death.

"And you haven't told Harry about that?"

"It never came up," she said, her voice light, "but I suppose now that you know he's alive, we should tell him."

"Why?"

"I didn't want to tell him. I was afraid Harry might try to kill him."

Luna definitely didn't have any problem holding things back.

"And…you didn't want that for Harry?"

"I didn't want that for either man," she shook her head, "I didn't want Harry to know. Harry doesn't always seem to remember Barty Crouch Jr. I think it was all over shadowed by Cedric's death and now he's forgotten. But if it were ever brought to his attention, it might fester into something unhealthy. I'd rather him go on forgetting Barty even existed."

"What do you mean for either man?"

"Well, I do not wish Barty ill. I have no doubt that he is suffering enough. Besides, a woman like you would hardly return to someone that's just an evil Death Eater. You must have taken pity on him."

I smiled, "You think too much of me. I was more interested in how he was even alive."

"But it's not that way anymore."

"No," I shook my head, "he's sort of turning my view of everything upside down. Did you know Voldemort threw temper tantrums and threw things like a child?"

Luna laughed a little, "I feel bad for his followers sometimes."

"Tell me about it."

"I doubt they quite knew what they were getting into."

A slight bell went off in my head. Had I ever asked Barty how he'd come to be a Death Eater? What his experiences with Voldemort were like? More and more questions began to form in my mind, and I began trying to store them away for later. I was almost tempted to write it down.

"You're distracted," Luna brought me out of my own head and I blushed. I had mocked her silently years ago for being airheaded, and here I was.

"Sorry I was…we sort of have this stupid…game."

Oh, that sounded absolutely terrible.

"What kind of game?"

"I ask him questions and he asks me questions. Two a day. We go back and forth. "

"That seems risky."

"Risky?"

"Well, I am sure you took that offer with thoughts of learning more about him, but what does he know about you?"

I went still.

I brought back all the mundane little questions that Barty had asked me, because most of them had been. He'd asked about schooling and my parents and how I felt about things. Meanwhile, I had tried to dig into his past, thinking that was the way to understand him.

All this time, he'd been learning more about me than I had about him.

"We are not our mistakes," Luna spoke up again.

"Sorry?"

"I am assuming you've realized that all the queries you've placed to him surround the mistakes he's made."

I put my head in my hands, "Yes."

"You know why he's alive, then."

"Not entirely," I admitted rather sheepishly, "I haven't asked that question yet."

"Why not?"

God, sometimes Luna knew how to throw me on an emotional roller coaster, "I…I don't know! That was the initial reason for me even beginning this madness and yet I haven't asked."

"I don't think either of you want you to ask."

I rounded on her.

"What?"

"If you ask that, then what reason do you have to stay? He will sink back into the darkness of his cell and you'll go back to living a dull, average life. Neither of you will even be living your life to its full potential. I hate to say this, but Barty brings out the best of you. The adventurous spark from schooling is back in your eyes. I haven't seen it since Ron died."

The emotional roller coaster flew off the tracks entirely. My breath was catching. It was incredible how a name could make me be on the verge of tears in seconds.

"Luna, why—"

"Because Ron and Professor McGonagall are dead, Hermione. You are not mourning them anymore, you are living in guilt. The remorse you feel will kill you, you know. Harry and I have had to learn together to let go. We've had each other, luckily. I suppose the wretched thing is that the person who could help you with this is one who needs a new start as well."

"Luna!" I yelled, abruptly frustrated and angry, "I am not—I cannot believe that you would imply that Barty and I—"

"Not like that, Hermione," Luna cut in, "I don't mean romantically. But you are calling the man Barty, much as you would any of your friends. You have to understand that there is something there."

She gave me a few moments to calm down, sitting there, drinking her tea. I noticed then that it was automatically refilling once the cup went empty. A small smile touched my face at this simple display of magic.

"I don't ask that question because I don't think I want to. Because it would mean the end of the arrangement and I would have no reason to go back. And for reasons I'm not sure of, that seems like the worst idea."

"Why are you here?"

This certainly was not going to sound good.

"Barty suggested I find somewhere else to stay for the night."

"Is there something wrong with your flat?"

"Yes. It's location has been discovered by Draco Malfoy."

"Ah, and Barty doesn't trust him?"

"Not at all!" I said exasperatedly, "God! He was indignant! Barty Coruch Jr, murderer of many, was telling me that I was in danger."

"Perhaps he's softened in his imprisonment."

I thought back to the embrace I had just shared with him, "Well…he has his moments, but lately he's been fairly complacent. It's like there's two sides to him. I haven't seen the…the mad version of him in a long time."

Luna tilted her head to the side, "It's been a week."

It was my turn to be confused, but then I stopped. How was that possible? So much had happened in a week?

"I…"

"I think you need to keep going. You are obviously very emotionally invested in him. I suggest you return to him like you would any other friend. Find out what you will about him, but learn about who he is. Perhaps the old Barty Crouch Jr, the demented lost boy, is gone. You may have given him a center and reminded him what life could be."

"That's a lot of pressure on me," I laughed nervously, "why do you call him a lost boy?"

"Oh, Hermione, think. All his life has been is darkness with only a few shimmers of hope. I can see why you're so drawn to him."

My mouth fell open and shut several times before I found myself laughing. It was like a bomb. Luna Lovegood was a bomb of truth and complete sincerity. She wasn't afraid to remind me of the past and, with her, I didn't run from it. She spoke things when she felt them and did not bat an eyelash.

"Why do I get this feeling that you know how all of this is going to play out?"

"Because I do,' Luna said calmly, "so I just decided to have this conversation out of decency."

"So you could tell me exactly what's going to happen?"

"Well, not exactly, but I have a good idea."

"And this entire conversation was merely a formality?"

"I am hoping it has stirred the fire back under your bonnet and that you'll do the right thing."

"Which is?"

Luna smiled, "That would be telling."

She stood up then and waved her wand and the couch became a nice bed.

"You can rest here tonight, as I put a sleeping potion in your tea and it should be kicking in any moment now."

"You did what?"

"You need sleep. Besides, it saves you the burden of having a normal chat about the weather with me. You've got more important things to do than talk to me. Once you sleep, it'll be tomorrow and you can go back to him."

"My life doesn't revolve around when I see him!"

Luna sighed, "Yes it does. For now, at least."

"Luna, you drugged me!"

"You would have feigned sleep anyway," she shrugged. I had to admit, she was right, "Harry will be pleased to see you when he gets home. To bed with you!"

I rolled my eyes and got under the covers, transfiguring my clothes into decent sleepwear.

"Why am I not angry with you for this?"

"I've already told you; it's what you really want to do anyways. Now think up on what I've told you. There are less Obengales around your head now."

"Yes, I suspect that would be the case."


	14. Chapter 14

_**I AM STARTING THIS WITH A MASSIVE APOLOGY. About a month ago, I was in a position to be able to post a chapter a week. Then, my computer decided to fritz on me. I lost 95% of my documents, including Soulless in its entirety. I have been rewriting the next five chapters, which was obviously a struggle to do. I am hoping this new chapter is better than whatever I had originally wrote.**_

_**However, I am sincere in my wish that this will not be repeated and that you will have much more consistent posting. I hope you enjoy it. Things are about to get real. And a bit heavy. I LOVE reading the reviews. **_

_**Here's the new chapter! Hope you like it!**_

I left in the morning before Harry came home. I didn't necessarily want to do that, but by noon he still had not returned, which was a disturbing thing. He'd been at work all night, and Luna had made no mention of being concerned about it during breakfast. In fact, she'd handed me my toast with jam and then gone out to tend to her garden, now freshly watered. She seemed entirely pleased by it and waved goodbye to me with a trowel levitating by her head.

I gathered myself up, feeling odd in their bathroom as I readied myself. I was focused and determined. To start, I wasn't sure what I was going to do, but now it was clear.

I apparated to Diagon Alley and hurried into Book Soul. The man behind the counter nodded at me in recognition.

"Did Sherlock Holmes not do it for you?"

Taken aback by his memory, I shook my head.

"Oh no, it's wonderful. Just getting something for a friend."

He nodded and went back to the paper he was reading and the headline caught my attention:

_**REDEMPTION FOR THE MALFOYS**_

I peaked a bit closer to catch the caption beneath.

_DRACO PROPOSES A PROJECT FOR THE BETTERMENT OF EDUCATION_

"You want a subscription?"

I flinched, realizing I'd been caught.

"Um, no thanks, but do you sell those here."

The man jostled his head and I saw the stacks of them by the counter. I nearly groaned at my own lack of observation. I picked one up and then shuffled into the shelves.

It took much longer than expected to get out of there (accidentally getting lost in the books, as usual), and I had not appreciated the judgmental look I'd received from the book store owner, but I ignored it. The flight to Azkaban was a bit hazardous with the wind, but I managed it. Sneaking in was simple as well, as any guards seemed eager to be outside and not walking around within in the walls of the prison.

When the door to the cell opened, I felt Barty before I saw him. He was right in front of me, tatty green shirt and all, checking me over. He eyed the bag, but I set it down by the door.

"You smell odd."

I looked at him and giggled a bit, "I went to Luna's. Her whole home smells airy and sunny. She grows flowers and…not flowers. My house tends to keep me scented like a library." I moved away from him and then turned, "Wait, you know how I _smell?_"

"I've been in here how long and you don't think I'm going to notice a very different and unique smell entering my previously undisturbed domain? Yeah, right."

Shaking my head, trying to remember that he was making a good point and not a slightly creepy one, I walked past him. The room was still bare, the simple cot and basin.

"Um," Barty started, "I…I don't think I can really conjure up anything too fancy today," Barty said. I faced him. He looked relatively ashamed of himself.

"That's all right," I assured him, "but why?"

"Well," he began, almost laughing at himself, "I've been…er, showing off a bit, haven't I? It's drained me a little. My usual magic doesn't go much farther than making myself basins and showers and changing my meals. For a week now, I've been making furniture. Granted, I've had lots of practice, but it was a bit much."

I nodded, but Barty still looked ashamed.

"Perfectly all right."

"Ah, I feel like a ruddy awful host."

"I'm not much better of a guest. I did start this whole thing with me trying to kill you."

It went silent. It'd only been a week. A bloody week and here I was, standing in front of a man that I wasn't sure whether or not was evil. Luna had thrown me for a loop.

"And that's still going to happen, of course," Barty joked, his voice flat. I took a very deep breath through my nose.

"I don't know."

His eyebrows shot to his hairline.

"What?"

"I honestly don't know."

Barty looked at me, and then very quickly looked to the floor and covered his mouth, but I'd seen the smile burst across his face. However, when he rolled his head back to look at me again, there was no trace of his victorious grin.

"It's really a choice now, isn't it?" Barty asked.

"What is?"

He took a step forward, getting right into my personal space. One of his hands reached up and I froze, stunned. But just before his fingers reached my jaw, he retracted his hand and lowered it back to his side.

"Kill me or kiss me," he said, "it's really an option. You're not sure."

"Yes, well, I suppose I didn't think you had any sort of redeeming qualities. I was sure that a man who single-handedly kidnapped my friend and sent him on his merry way to the Dark Lord to bring him back and thereby assisted in the murders of—"

"You know, we've been over this," Barty cut me off. I snapped my mouth shut and he continued, "I know what I did. I am paying my dues. I'm one of the lucky ones, really. I have my soul. I'm not a mindless body, rotting away in here."

"You say that, but you look like your fate is worse, "I challenged him. He shrugged.

"I suppose it is, in a way, because I _know _I am serving my time. I am awake for almost all of it. I am forced to live in it, bathe in it, breathe it in. Lucius Malfoy doesn't know his lavish blonde hair has fallen from his head. I know that my body has lost its strength and my level on insanity peaked. He won't know that he spent the last years of his life fading into nothing in a cell."

I bit my lip and looked at him.

"Your fate is worse."

Barty gave me a soft smile, but his eyes were so sad that it was heartbreaking.

"Maybe it is."

"It's one of the reasons I…I'm hesitant. You deserve death—"

Barty scoffed and I glared at him.

"You know you do. You are responsible for many deaths."

"All right, all right, keep on," he waved his hand. I glared, but did so.

"You deserve death, but sometimes I think you're already serving your time enough. That you're already being punished enough."

Barty let out a slightly crazed giggle.

"Do you think death is a punishment?"

"Obviously, it is."

Barty shook his head and gave me a smile I hadn't seen from him before. It was a sad, wise smile, and it hurt.

"Hermione, you offering to kill me is almost as sweet as you thinking about kissing me."

I blinked at him.

"You do want to die, then?"

"Well, part of me does. Not right now," he smiled at me, "but this won't last and then it'll be back to nothing and I'll long for death," he sighed, "but that's what you want: for me to suffer and feel my punishment, in view of what I've done."

Despite that being true, my eyes were welling up as I thought about how he was going to live the rest of his life. Barty Crouch Jr would spend his days in Azkaban. He was only forty, so he had at least another hundred years to go. He'd spend every second doing nothing. He'd do nothing but relive his past and his mistakes. The worst part was he was already changing—feeling sorry, regret, wishing to go back—and it'd only been ten years. How badly would he feel in another ten? Twenty? He'd long for death. I lowered my head.

"You're feeling sorry for me," Barty guessed.

"Shut up."

"Nice comeback."

"Shut up!" I said again and looked back up at him. He stared back fearlessly, his gaze too intense for me to not want to crumble beneath it. I took a breath.

"I've made a decision," I informed him.

"What's that?"

"No more _Verum Delore._"

Barty's expression seemed impressed.

"Really? I've gained your trust that much?"

"No," I said honestly, "but I told you I made a decision."

"I thought that was your decision."

"Will you let me finish?"

Barty gave me a childish grin, and I tried to stop my own. He was teasing me, which was somewhat perfect, considering my plan for us.

"No more _Verum Delore _and…" I bit my lip again, "I want to know how you're alive."

The reaction was immediate. Barty's face fell. He appeared genuinely terrified.

This was one of the reactions I'd thought of, but not the one I expected. Barty and I had kept up so many walls and yet already we had shattered them to the point that he was now showing me his real emotion. He was afraid, and I knew exactly what of.

"I want to know how you're alive."

"Please Hermione, don't ask me that."

"No, I'm asking."

"Hermione, there's so much more we could learn from each other."

"I know that. I'm asking this one."

"Please, I—"

"Barty, answer the question."

Then something I should have been prepared for happened: he snapped. The hurt faded and he started trembling. His face became one of horror to one of anger. His hands curled into fists. He snarled and lunged for me. I was pushed against the wall, pinned, his hands on my arms, and him glaring at me. The mania in his eyes was familiar. The mad man was back.

"You can't ask that!"

"Why!" I shouted at him, not willing to let him simply dominate me.

"Because you can't!"

"I'm asking so I can get it over with!"

This was the wrong thing to say. Crouch screamed.

"You're not asking me that! You're never asking me that!"

"You know what? Fine! I don't have to!" I told him, "I've got enough pieces! I could easily figure it out!"

"Stop it!" he roared.

"The Minister let you live!"

Crouch glared at me and his breathing was suddenly ragged.

"He let you live so you could help him. So he could find the Death Eaters. He claimed they'd taken your soul so that no one would know. Then they tried to sneak you out of the prison. One girl saw you and they tried to obliviate her. It didn't work!"

Crouch was laughing then, a pained laugh, but still a laugh.

"Wrong."

"What?"

"You're wrong."

"About what?"

"There were three girls that caught us. Three girls and a boy."

I went very still.

"No."

"Yes."

"Impossible. Luna would have—"

"I'm sure it didn't _entirely _work on the current Mrs. Potter, but no one is completely immune. Yes. You, Luna, Ginny, and Ron. All of you came out and caught us. The Minister himself obliviated you."

"That's not true!"

"You could check, if you like, with your little torture spell! Go on! See if I'm telling the truth!"

"It's not torture!"

"Of course it is! Everyone has something to hide," he pointed out, "and under fire, they could easily admit to things they don't want to simply because of the pressure. And you," he smiled widely, "you are responsible for their resulted misery."

"They would not be asked something that did not pertain to the crime!"

"We could argue about this for ages, dear," he sneered. I struggled under his grasp.

"But I'm right, aren't I?" I tested.

His face was dark.

"I'm right. He took you. He _used _you. I bet he really tortured you. Did he torture you, Crouch? It was like being under Voldemort again. The Minister of Magic had you tortured so you'd talk. I know he did. I can see it."

"Hermione," Crouch growled out, but his voice was low and warning, "I would suggest you stop."

"I know now, though. I know how you're alive. I know why you're alive. Ha! I didn't even have to ask. Look at that. All this time and I already knew the answer."

"Hermione, please!" he screamed and shook me once. Suddenly, the mad man didn't look right. He was almost melting. Melting into a pleading expression. A few moments passed. Finally, I issued a weak prompt.

"Barty? What is it?"

"Hermione, please," he said again, "please. I didn't want you to ask because…because I know what that means."

Bells went off in my head and I smiled. Gently, I raised my hands and placed them on his waist.

"And what does it mean?"

He was obviously shaken by the contact, but he spoke anyways.

"That this is over. That you're leaving. You've got what you came for."

"Yes. I did."

"And you're leaving."

"No."

He looked up at me, eyes wide. I gave him a smile before I wrapped my arms around him and embraced him warmly.

"No, Barty, I'm not."

It took a couple of seconds, but his grip on my arms became his arms around my back. He hugged me tightly and started laughing. It was quiet at first, but then it became louder. It was almost free.

"Damn you!" he said, his voice still happy, "You had me thinking you were all done and ready to pack up."

"I…I didn't expect you to react that way."

He released me and met my eyes, and knew what was required.

"I am so sorry," he said humbly, "I really didn't mean to…I mean sometimes it just… I did not intend to do that to you again," he grinned, "though that is still me under here, so it's not all that surprising. But it was terrifying. I thought, after years of nothing, that the best thing that had happened to me in ages was just going to walk out the door. I'd only gotten a week. It just scared me."

"I know and I'm sorry I worded it that way. I should have been straight with you."

"You're right about that!"

"But…"

He stilled, looking at me with a worried expression.

"But?"

"No more dancing around matters. I'm going to treat you like I would anyone because that's how you've treated me. This means, however, that we need to get a few things out in the open."

"Such as?"

"Well, I'm going to ask you some harsh questions. Ones you may not want to answer. But if you ever want me to make the decision—"

"Kill me or kiss me?"

"Yes, that one; if you ever want me to decide, I have to know everything. But, all is fair—you get to ask, too. I'm letting you start."

Barty stared at me, seeming shell shocked. I move to his cot and sat on the edge of it. After a bit, he joined me, sitting at the other side. The distance between us spoke volumes.

"You want me to ask you something…harsh?"

"Yes. Anything. I'm going to open the floodgates."

Barty was silent for a moment and then he nodded, more to himself.

"All right, then I know what I need to ask."

"Go for it."

"Hermione," Barty started, "where is Ron?"


	15. Chapter 15

_**I know. I'm really awful. **_

_**Every author says this, but PLEASE tell me what you guys think. I continue writing this because I LOVE it and I am excited to let you guys see where it's going. But I need to know your thoughts! So please, leave a review. Let me know what you think. To be honest, I am getting giddy with anticipation for you guys.**_

_**Much love to all of you. You are all SOOO wonderful!**_

I had him to ask about Ron, but the blow still came. Barty walked me over to his bunk and let me sit down before sitting beside me, though keeping a respectable distance.

"You do get right to the point," I breathed out.

"You asked me to," he countered.

"Fair enough."

It took several moments, but I recalled Luna's words and nodded.

"Ron is dead."

"He is?"

"Yes."

"Why…" Barty seemed to be struggling on how to say something, "why was that so hard to tell me?"

"Because it's my fault that he's dead."

Barty's expression of confusion was also expected.

"Tell me what happened."

"Oh, but that will take all of the mystery out of it!"

"Hermione," Barty gave me a look and I swallowed hard.

"Fine," I said taking another deep breath, "Ron and Professor McGonagall are both dead because of me. We had gone back to Hogwarts for the…anniversary of the end of the War. The three heroes, or whatever. While we were there, some rogue Death Eaters managed to get in. We came to learn that one of the professors had orchestrated it, using similar methods…" I trailed off, trying to quell the anger, "…using the same method you did. Under polyjuice, he pretended to be Grubby-Plank for a few weeks. He snuck the Death Eaters in and, at the celebration ceremony, they attacked. Obviously, everyone was running everywhere and it was just chaos! We all jumped up to help, but…"

I broke off, unable to find my voice. There was immediately a hand taking mine. I closed my eyes and focused.

"One of them jumped in front of Ron and knocked his wand from him. I turned to defend him and use the Killing Curse, but—" I choked and pressed on, "I couldn't."

Trying to keep my breaths even, I fought to continue. Barty's other hand was on my shoulder. I knew he was totally out of his depth, unsure how to comfort me.

"You couldn't?"

"No," I shook my head, "I had never cast the Killing Curse before. Even during the War, I didn't. Just a lot of _stupefy _and _confundus._ I'd never used _Avada Kedavra _before because…because I hadn't even thought about it. But someone was threatening Ron and I turned and I wanted to protect him. But I didn't," I stopped myself from letting out a sob, "It failed. The curse didn't work because I couldn't do it. I'd never killed anyone because I continuously wanted to see good in people. After finding out what Snape had done, I thought good of everyone. And that's why I couldn't kill that Death Eater. He could have been someone's father. The curse failed, he hit me with a jinx, and Professor McGonagall made to protect Ron in my place. Instead, the same Death Eater whipped around and killed both of them."

Barty said nothing, but I heard him breathe heavily.

"I watched him kill Professor McGonagall. I was looking at Ron as he died, screaming, unable to even use my wand, since the Death Eater had sent it from my hand, and just watched the light leave his eyes. The last thing he saw was me screaming for him, which is a comfort, but before that he watched me fail to save him because I couldn't kill someone. They are both dead because of my idealistic mercy."

Silence followed. Barty did not remove his hand from my shoulder, nor did I take my hand from his. We sat there as Barty let me focus my energy on not breaking down. Surprisingly, I wasn't crying. I could feel it, like a simple slip and the oceans would escape, but I suddenly felt at peace. It was as if telling him had helped.

"That's why you wanted to kill me."

"What?" I asked, blinking out of my reverie.

"Well, one of the reasons; you wanted to kill me to prove that you could. You saw no reason to have mercy on me, and you wanted to prove you could kill someone. You chose me."

I met his eyes and tried to remember how to speak.

"Yeah, I think that was it. I tried to tell myself it was because you deserved it that much. But it wasn't just that."

"No, it wasn't."

I lowered my head, ashamed. Barty carefully brought his hand down to my back.

"Okay, no, I cannot stand to see you cry," Barty said vehemently, "ask me. It's your turn. Ask me."

I nodded, gratefully, giving him a weak smile.

"You've got horribly soft."

"This place will do that to you. Not a luxury estate."

I needed to lighten the tone. It was too dark. I needed to ask something silly, something not having to do with his past. I needed to get to know him, like Luna had suggested.

"I'm drawing an absolute blank."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, I wanted to ask you something like you've asked me! How were your parents? What are some of your memories from school? But those questions don't exactly work the same way."

Barty gave a slight laugh and then another. Then he was truly laughing.

"Oh God, no," he giggled out, giggling more at my perplexed face, "I think we can rule out any happy memories because they're all tied into something tragic."

Barty's laughter was disconcerting. How could he laugh at something so depressing? But it made sense, in way: if he didn't laugh, he would cry.

"No use asking about the future either," Barty continued, "that looks a little dull."

I gave him a half-smile.

"Dreadful," I said simply.

He laughed for a bit more before leaning back against the wall and smiling at me.

"Hermione, it's okay. Ask me about it. It's all I've got, you know. My life is a series of mistakes. So pick one and go."

I frowned.

"It can't be all bad."

"I dare you to find something happy."

I considered it for a moment before grinning.

"Tell me about the first time you went to Diagon Alley!"

Barty's eyebrows raised and he nodded, as if impressed.

"Well, that starts nicely. Getting my very own wand, being fitted for my robes, searching for my books; I told you I was like you in a lot of ways, so that was very exciting. But it ended with a dead owl."

My eyes went wide in shock. "What?"

"My mother bought me an owl to take with me. We caught up with my father, who just seemed pleased. Once we apparated home, however, he turned and killed my owl," Barty looked off into the distance for a moment, "I had named him Moby," he commented before continuing on with a dismissive shake of his head, "my father said no son of his needed a pet to take to school. He insisted it was demeaning. And of course, my mother was submissive."

"That's awful!"

"That was my dad. My mom never stood up for me until…well, you know about that. Actually, my childhood was rather tentative."

"How so?"

Barty smiled, but it was not a happy smile. It was bitter. He sat back and looked away from me, recollecting.

"I remember my eleventh birthday. My parents had both been so worried that I was going to be a Squib. I'd never shown any signs, any signs at all, of magical ability. They were so panicked. Then, on my eleventh birthday, I received my letter. It came through the door slot and an owl hooted as it flew away. I looked at it and then back up at my parents. They both exploded with joy. My father, of course, tried to keep himself proper, but he beamed at me, shaking my hand in congratulations before, for the first time in my life, hugging me. But the specific part that I concentrate on is when my mother gathered me in her arms and told me she loved me more than anything in the world."

I let a moment pass before I spoke up, wanting him to soak in the memory.

"That's not a bad childhood moment."

"Not at all," he agreed, "but my father went on to try and raise me as a proper wizard, which led to the resentment I had for him until the day he died."

My brow furrowed, playing his last sentence in my mind.

"You don't hate him anymore?"

"Why hate him? He is dead, after all, at my hand. I got my revenge. I should be dead, too, really. They say 'he who seeks revenge should two graves dig'."

"You did dig your grave," I noted, "it's just in the shape of this cell."

Barty finally turned to look at me and I felt my heart sink. He looked so old. He looked tired and sad, and his face had somehow darkened.

My hand reached out of its own accord. I took his hand in mine. His eyes followed my actions, seemingly mesmerized.

"It's amazing how much can change in so little time," he said, barely over a whisper.

"I was thinking the same thing."

"To think, you wanted me dead just over a week ago."

I raised an eyebrow and he laughed under his breath.

"You sort of still do."

"Only when I think of Neville's parents."

Barty winced.

"If it helps, I'm not proud of myself for that."

"It doesn't."

"Hermione, being a Death Eater isn't something that I did because I enjoyed hurting people. It was just something I had to do."

I didn't want to discuss this in further detail. Morals and ethics were too confusing at the moment.

"How did you become a Death Eater?"

Barty gave me a smile, but there was still a hint of pain.

"I was expecting that one," he admitted, "basically the same way everyone did, to be honest. Voldemort was very persuasive. He knew what a person needed and, in an effort to recruit you, would use it. I needed a father figure, so he mentored me. He set me up with new friends and faces of seemingly happy followers. By the time he reverted back to his demented, evil self I was already hooked."

"But you saw how crazy he was," I pointed out, "why did you stay?"

"I told you; he was like a father at that point. And I think he knew I would do anything to gain his approval, since my own father never approved of me. So he would shower me with praises after a brutal kill. The more ruthless, the more praises. I was easy, like Pavlov's dog."

"That's a muggle scientist!" I said, shocked.

"Yeah, so?" Barty looked genuinely confused. I laughed lightly and shook my head, before I remembered, "Oh! I have something for you!"

The look on his face was incredulous.

"For me? He asked as I nodded and stood up, moving toward my bag.

"Yep!" I smiled and retrieved the small package, "it's not much, but I…well, I…" I trailed off, much as I had been doing earlier. I was entirely unsure why I'd done it for him.

"Yes?" he prompted.

"Well, I suppose I got it for you because I want us to be on even terms. I want to give you a chance and I want you to give me a chance, too. I mean, I didn't exactly start off on the right foot either."

Barty smirked, but then saw the brown package in my hand and his smirk became a kiddish smile. I wished, for a moment, that I had a camera. I had successfully made the darkness disappear from Crouch, and here remained Barty. His face was absolutely childlike, as though it were Christmas. The lines around his eyes only made him look more gleeful. I walked over to him and handed him the package.

"It's not much, but I thought you might like it."

Barty took it from me and smiled softly.

"You bought it for me," he said, "I would like anything you brought me."

"Come off it," I blushed, "open it."

Barty looked down at it and carefully removed the paper. As it fell away and the cover was revealed, I couldn't see his face. The book was brand new, the green still shining and the letters visibly raised. I smiled. Barty, however, started trembling.

"You," his voice cracked, "you bought me The Hobbit."

"Yes," I confirmed.

"I…" Barty began, but then a hand came up over his mouth. Frustration came over me, unable to see his expression. Then his body started shaking.

"Barty?" I said with concern. I heard him make something like a cry. He lowered his hand, running his fingers over the lettering.

"You don't even realize, do you?" he asked, finally looking up. I was shocked to see the stain of tears on his cheeks.

"Realize what?"

He set the book down and stood up, standing directly in front of me. His hands came up to my neck, a motion that would have terrified me before. He was smiling still.

"That book? That book right there was the _only _light in my dark childhood. It was the only thing that kept me going. Even when there were good times and even when I truly learned all that being a wizard entailed, that book held magic for me. You will probably never understand how much this means to me," he said, one of his hands sliding to my cheek, "thank you. Thank you so much, Hermione."

I smiled back at him before I realized what was happening. He was so close. We were mere inches apart and his face was so very close to mine.

I was going to kiss him, or rather he was going to kiss me. I was startled to discover that I wasn't about to stop him. Panic spread through me like ice, unsure of what to do, unsure if I was ready to make that decision. But as his head lowered, I made no motion to stop him. In fact, I caught myself leaning in. My eyes closed.

It was then that we both heard it: footsteps coming down the hall.

We froze, so close, our breathing suddenly loud to me. My heartbeat was also thrumming in my ears.

"It's not time to eat," Barty whispered. My heart rate sped up.

The footsteps clicked down the hall, obviously expensive shoes stopping just outside the door. There was nothing after that, no sound of a door opening.

But then a voice was able to be heard. In a conspiratorial whisper:

"Hermione?"

Barty's jaw clenched and he turned to face the door. My blood was running cold.

Draco Malfoy was outside that door. He knew I was here. And I had nowhere to hide.


	16. Chapter 16

_**Well, would you look at that. It's a new chapter! **_

_**I'm getting so excited with each chapter. And wouldn't any inconsistent author who knows what is going to happen next? But I can tell you this much: those who have been reading since the beginning and are like OH MY GOD LET'S HAVE SOMETHING HAPPEN NOW, something is happening now. Obviously, one has to build the foundation before you jump into it. So I have. And now, with the relationship between Hermione and Barty where I want it, it must be tested.**_

_**I've said too much! All I can say is...THE PLOT THICKENS.**_

_**Oh and next chapter? We're going to Hogwarts. **_

_**I absolutely LOVE reading your reviews and I appreciate every person who takes the time to ead this. I hope I never disappoint. You are all fantastic!**_

I turned to Barty, terrified.

"What do I do?" I whispered.

"He might not know which cell you're in. This _is _Lucius' wings. He might think you're there."

"He can't discover you!"

"Like I don't know that!"

I turned, wondering how to exit. Barty grabbed my shoulders.

"You are not going out there."

"I have to! He knows I'm here!"

"But think, Hermione. _How _does he know you're here? Has he been having you followed? Has he been following you? Has he been asking around? Why is he looking for you?"

"Hermione, I know you're here somewhere," Draco's voice came from the hall again. I tried to pry myself from Barty's grasp.

"Let go. I need to go to him."

"Hermione, he's dangerous!"

"So are you!"

Barty froze and then straightened up and away from me. He released me and I straightened my outfit.

"It'll be fine."

"Yeah, let's hope so," he said, before turning from me. He immediately lay on the ground, looking dead. It took me a moment to realize that he was playing soulless, in case Draco saw him. I ran a hand through my hair and then turned to the door.

For a moment, I wanted to run over to Barty where he lay and finish what I'd started. But it a fleeting thought gone before I could think on it any further. I opened the cell door and saw Draco down the hall way a bit, back to me. I closed the door as quiet as I could before speaking.

"Draco?"

He whipped around, smiling when he saw me.

"Hermione!"

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Draco gave me a look, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, it's not entirely odd for me to be here, what with my father behind the door over there."

"But that's not why you're here."

Draco lowered his head a moment then looked back up at me, his expression sad.

"Actually, it is."

"It is?"

"Yeah," he said quietly, then didn't seem able to meet my eyes, "I wanted to see him. I haven't in a long time. And I suppose…well, you've made me remember that, despite everything, my father saved my life and did all he could to keep me safe. Granted, he was also a horrid, scum-sucking troll, but he did seem to care enough to keep me alive."

I swallowed, unable to respond. Draco didn't seem able to look up at me, his voice taking a sheepish tone.

"And…I somewhat was…waiting until I knew you were here to come up to visit."

I could practically hear Barty in my head, cheering victoriously at being right.

"How did you know I'd be here?" Draco gave me a smirk.

"I may or may not have tracked your broom."

My mouth dropped open and I grew instantly angry. If I hadn't been trying to keep my presence a secret, I would have screamed at him.

"You _tracked_ me?"

"Now, wait, calm down—"

"I absolutely will not! You were tracking me! That's stalking!"

"Hermione, I only wanted to know when you were coming up here."

"You could have asked!"

Draco went quiet and cocked his head to the side.

"Been a little difficult to ask when you aren't at your flat."

I stared at him. So he had gone back to see me while I'd been at Luna's.

"We do have a coffee date, right?" he gave me a smile.

Near the bottom of my stomach, I felt guilty. I wasn't quite sure why. However, it was the same feeling I'd had when I'd kissed him before.

"I…I suppose we do," I said, a bit quietly.

Draco narrowed his eyes at me, sensing my being unsure of my own words, but then wiped the expression and instead his eyes went kind.

"Well, I am here to see my father. And I didn't want to do this by myself. You've seen him several times now. I thought it might be…nice to have someone there. Holding my hand, as it were," Draco looked timid, his request poorly hidden in his words.

The only problem was that I hadn't seen Lucius Malfoy. I would be just as unprepared as Draco. However, Barty had told me a little that I was sure that the sight that would meet us would be an extremely upsetting one.

"I…I don't know if you'll want to see him, Draco. It's easy for me because the man hated me and I hated him in return. But for you…" I trailed off.

"I know it is not going to be pretty," Draco started, but I cut him off, remembering what Barty had said.

"His hair is nearly gone," I spat out, then looked away, "which, is something tragic. His hair was beautiful and luscious and as his life turned, it got worse and worse. And now it's not even there."

"Yeah, everyone remembers the hair," Draco nearly laughed. He took a breath and seemed to steady himself, "Hermione, I know what I am getting myself into. But you've got to remember that I hated him too, after I realized what his motivations were. It's…therapeutic. Like you said."

I went to reply, but there was something in Draco's eyes. It was something like a challenge, daring me to respond. I shut my mouth like a trap, teeth clicking. There wasn't any other choice; I was going to see Lucius Malfoy.

"All right," I agreed, "I'll go in with you."

Draco's left eye seemed to twitch, but he gave me a smile. He reached out and unabashedly took my hand. I felt the strong urge to pull away, but then purposely did not. For starters, Draco was going to need a hand to hold. His father was undoubtedly going to look terrible and, despite his confidence in his level of loathing, Draco would struggle in seeing that. Secondly, I would not let Barty's paranoia rule me. Granted, Draco was tracking my broom (something I would dismantle the moment I held the wood between my hands again), but he had explained his reasoning and it wasn't dastardly. It was unintentionally not okay, and I made a note to say so in kind later.

Draco waved his wand and the door opened. He gave me a look, one of pure fear. I squeezed his hand and stepped forward. We walked into Lucius' cell together and I immediately forced myself to hide my gasp of horror.

Lucius Malfoy looked dead. He was stick thin, hair truly nearly gone from his head, streaks of blonde locks strewn over the floor. He was staring, dead eyed, up at the ceiling. His jaw was slack, mouth open. There was a line of drool coming from the side of his mouth. His fingers, once dexterous and delicate, looked practically brittle and entirely breakable. He was a skeleton, looking worse than a dementor and as pale as a ghost. I felt as if I was going vomit.

Despite everything, everything I knew about the truly disgusting things the man had done, I felt my eyes filling with tears at the sight. I quickly fought them back, remembering that I had to appear as if I'd seen this several times and had grown accustomed to it. I tore my gaze from the shadow that once was Lucius Malfoy and looked at Draco. Surely, if I was so affected, he must be worse.

However, when I looked at him, he seemed stoic. He was still. His face was unmoving, expressionless. The only hint that he was feeling anything was the slight turn of the corners of his mouth that occasionally twitched downward. I didn't move, didn't breathe, didn't look at Lucius for fear of giving myself away. Draco stared on blankly. After about five minutes, he took a ragged breath. He squeezed my hand, turned to me, and gave me a weak smile. He then proceeded to falter entirely, his face cracking only slightly before he was rushing forward, falling into me and sobbing.

I wrapped my arms around him as he cried, his arms folded against my chest as his body shook. I allowed myself to finally cry, too, since there was certainly a reasonable cause now. Draco let out distraught whimpers and I found myself shooshing him and petting his hair. I even kissed the top of his head, surprised at myself, but not worrying over it. Draco needed comforting.

It took another five minutes for the sounds to die down. For a while, we stood there, me holding him as he calmed himself. When he leaned away, he let his hand squeeze my bicep weakly, and he looked at his father again. He backed away from me, releasing my hand as well and stared, seeming to be thinking.

"I always thought I'd say it serves him right, but…no one deserves this," Draco mused. Then he let out a bitter laugh, "except maybe Barty Crouch Jr."

I looked at him and my stomach started doing flips.

"What?"

"Yeah. He's here too. Did you know that?"

"Um…" I said, not wanting to answer, "why do you think he deserves it?"

"Please, he's the whole reason Voldemort gained power again in the first place. And he tortured Neville's parents."

"You tortured Neville," I shot back, immediately closing my mouth. Draco frowned at me.

"That is not the same thing. At all. In any stretch of the imagination. What I did to Neville in school was childish bullying. And it's not like he isn't okay. Hell, he married the Weasley girl. He's fine."

"Her name is Ginny," I said, for no reason at all other than to not respond to his comments on Barty, but he pressed further.

"He still let Voldemort rise to power."

I heard my own words in my head when I'd screamed the same thing at Barty, reminding him that he was a nothing and that he was despicable. I held my tongue now, not wanting to give anything away.

"Well, whatever the case, he's in here now. So he's taken care of."

Draco seemed to access me and then leaned away. He gave his father a final glance, then turned and opened the door. I followed him silently and flinched when he rounded on me:

"You don't believe he deserves it either. Like how you thought of my father."

I swallowed, my throat thick with panic.

"I…I just like to believe there is a story. There has to be more to it than someone just being evil. Whether it's nurture that made someone evil or a chemical imbalance—"

"Yeah, you like to believe the best in everyone, like a bloody Gryffindor. But let me show you, Hermione, let me show you why Barty Crouch Jr doesn't deserve a lick of sympathy,"."

Without another word, Draco grabbed my hand again, and waved his wand, my protests dying on my lips. We entered the cell, similar to Lucius' but more familiar to me by far. Barty was lying there, head turned from the door, unmoving. Draco sneered.

"Look at him, Hermione," he spat out, "while every other person in here fades and withers and dies, he is actually looking better; all of his hair, muscle build, and I bet his eyes still have color."

Before I could stop him, Draco walked over to Barty to his other side and scoffed.

"Sure enough. Brown," he commented and then promptly kicked Barty in the face.

"No!" I screamed out stepping forward and immediately looked at Barty. My heart was racing and my throat was full as I stared into his eyes, seeing his scream behind them. It was lucky his face was turned from Draco, as he made a brief expression of pain before forming it back into a mask.

Draco was giving me another confused look.

"What? He's practically dead. He should be," he said, walking around to stand next to me, "how is it possible, Hermione? How come he has almost _thrived_ soulless and living in Azkaban? I'll tell you: because he is full of nothing but evil. His soul has been wiped and all that's left is the vile, wretched body that committed all of those crimes. Look! His shell even has the ability to cry!"

I watched, sick to my stomach, and saw a tear fall from Barty's eye. Then there was another. It took me a moment to feel my own tear fall down my cheek. Then there was another.

"I should break his jaw," Draco commented. I grabbed his arm.

"Draco, no," I said sternly and he met my gaze.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, obviously baffled.

"Just…just memories, not because you…look, just don't do that again. The man you're trying to punish isn't even in there. Just let it be," I pet his arm, trying to calm him, "besides, cruelty isn't what you wear anymore. You're better than that."

"You obviously don't know all this man did in his time," Draco growled out, "he made my father look like a saint."

I couldn't stop myself from frowning.

"That might be a bit of an exaggeration—"

"Please. He brought Voldemort back, killed so many people, went totally mad, tortured the Longbottom's and so many more. My dad said he liked to watch the…sexual assaults. That he got off on it. That he was always there."

I made to say something, but I bit my lip. I couldn't keep defending him, even as he lay there in agony. I had to get Draco gone.

"Look, let's get out of here, please," I said, but Draco ignored me.

"I'm glad that you were here today," he commented, "I don't know if I would have been able to do that without you. I'm really glad that we've somehow…made contact again. And…I am _very _glad…that we're going to make more contact in the future."

With his words, Draco moved closer, placing a hand on my jaw and stepping in to my personal space. He was going to kiss me again; here, in front of Barty, in front of a man he presumed long gone. I darted my eyes to Barty and it fell into place: the discomfort I'd felt when I'd kissed him the first time and the discomfort I'd felt earlier was guilt. It was guilt because I was kissing something like another man, when my attention was on Barty.

I wanted to kiss Barty.

I nearly had.

I moved away from Draco and fumbled to come up with an excuse.

"I don't…he can see us," I said. Draco let out an amused laugh.

"He's not—"

"Draco, I don't think we should do… _that_ again."

I was met with an incredulous stare.

"Why not?"

I shook my head.

"I can tell you that it's not because of you, at all. I know it sounds like a line, but it's not."

"Is it because of the tracking? I'll take it off, I swear. It was just…I just wanted to do this with you and—"

"I'm telling you, it's not you, okay?" I reassured him, "It's really just…I'm not someone who should really…we have a lot of history and it did a lot of damage and I don't know if I can just casually date someone who—"

"Hermione," Draco almost whined, "that was Hogwarts. We're older now and we're both different. It could work so well, you know. I'm different. I think we've found something special here. I'd like to see more of you and I'd really like it if that were on less than casual terms."

I bit my lip. He was right, in a way. This could be a very good thing for the both of us. It would help heal old wounds, as we'd obviously have to discuss the past. It could even be a symbol to the public of changing times.

And yet…

"Look, I really don't think…" I started, but I was unable to finish my sentence. Draco's face fell and he looked away. My resistance had worn him out.

"That's…that's all right, Hermione," he said, "if you're not ready, that's fine. I can wait. You just let me know when you're ready to try it out, and we'll start this up. All right?"

I made to say something, tell him that it might never happen. Because, in my gut, I knew it wouldn't. While dating Draco would possibly be no big deal or simple and might even work, my stomach was filled with inexplicable trepidation. For some odd reason, I couldn't see us together. I wanted to tell him that, tell him to not waste him time waiting, but I couldn't. Instead, I simply nodded.

He gave me a smile.

"I'll leave you, then. Give you some space. I'll talk to you another time then. And…thank you," he said and quick leaned forward, capturing my lips in a kiss before I could protest. I made a weak whimper, but he broke away before I could properly object. Draco smiled again and turned, opening the door and then closing it behind him, oddly leaving me alone in Barty's cell. I knew in the back of my mind that leaving me here alone with a presumed soulless body wasn't entirely normal, but I figured he was somewhat out of it, having been rejected.

I stood there a moment and listened as the steps faded down the hall way. The moment I couldn't hear them, I turned around to face Barty, ready to aid him. However, the look I was met with made me feel like I was the one that had been kicked in the jaw.


	17. Chapter 17

_**There is an apology here for the incredibly long delay and a promise that updates will never be that spaced out again. The only problem was me. I won't make excuses, but I must explain that I moved away from home and from July to now, life has been a bit difficult.**_

_**Good news: not anymore. I have waited to post this (and the next chapter) for too long. So let's hurry up and read this one. **_

_**Not like it's a super important chapter or anything (hint hint: that is sarcasm)**_

_**I absolutely LOVE reading your reviews and I appreciate every person who takes the time to read this. I hope I never disappoint. You are all fantastic!**_

"Barty?"

It seemed the easiest way to start, but he shushed me.

"He may not be gone."

We didn't move for a while. I couldn't meet his eyes. There was a new type of unease settling into the pit of my stomach, more closely resembling uncertainty than anything else.

However, the pieces had fallen in place in my mind and I was going to let them. Draco had interrupted the flow of things, perhaps, but I was aware of the shift in our entire dynamic. I looked down at Barty, seeing a dark tint to his jaw already forming.

I didn't want to kill Barty Crouch Jr anymore.

It felt like a loss, another victory gone, but at the same time there was an odd kind of peaceful sensation present. I waited only a few more moments before I fell down to his side. I knelt on the dirty floor, taking his neck in my hand and gingerly turning his face towards mine.

"Hermione, get off!" he yelled. Behind his eyes were the beginnings of rage.

"None of that," I scolded and his expression of shock was glorious, "I need to fix your jaw."

He looked up at me and I could see more confusion in him than even I had. He was still glaring.

"He kissed you."

"Yes."

"Not for the first time."

"No."

"For the last time?"

"Barty."

There was a pause.

"I don't like what he was implying."

"Nor do I, but I have now clearly stated that I have no intention of being with him or engaging in any of those activities again. Now hold _still_ so I can fix you!"

Barty smiled, but held still long enough that I could place my wand at his jaw and start a healing incantation. It was one I had buried from long ago, a medical spell I had only learned for the time when I had been searching the hillside for Horcruxes.

"I…I want you to know that…" I started carefully, "I am not interested in Draco Malfoy. Maybe it was because _you_ planted worry and caution in my head, but there's something off about him and I don't exactly trust him. The going to my flat, tracking my broom; it's all…not good. He is doing great things for Hogwarts and it's going to inspire many other Wizarding schools to do the same, but personally, there's an aspect to him I don't trust. I really can't trust him, anyways. Draco was a terrible bully and I was tortured in his home and in front of him. Even if he was the nicest person in the world, there will never be a day that I don't associate him with the worst moment of my life."

Barty rolled his head to look up at me, eyes sad.

"That was the worst moment? Not…Ron dying?"

I shook my head.

"Ron's death was my own failure. At least I had the comfort of knowing that. Bellatrix Lestrange tortured me. The things she said…that she did…" I felt a twinge on my arm where the scar still was, though expertly hidden by Muggle make up, "I will never have a nightmare that doesn't go back to that. If Draco's only crime was simply being a bystander, I might have been able to look past it, but he was also a childhood menace, and it just adds up to be too much."

"So…you're not interested in him?"

I blushed a little and laughed.

"Jealous, are we?" I teased.

Barty gave me a soft smile.

"If I said a little, would that be okay?"

I slowed my movements, lowering my hands and sighing.

"Yeah," I admitted, "that'd be okay."

We sat there in silence for a while as the magic started to kick in. It wasn't fixing the forming bruise, however, and I was growing frustrated. I stared intently at his jaw, trying to will the magic to hide the mark.

"Funny, isn't it?" Barty said as I examined my work.

"What's that?"

"'Hold still so I can fix you'," Barty quoted me, "it's funny."

I met his eyes.

"Why's that?"

Barty snorted, then winced. His jaw would still need to heal properly, the bones bound to ache for a bit.

"Because," he said through his discomfort, "you've already…fixed me."

"I've done no such thing."

"Sure you have. It's what you came here to do, isn't it?"

"How do you mean?"

"You came here to fix me. You thought you were going to do that by killing me. But you didn't. You did more than that."

I blushed again.

"You can't credit me with anything. You sound entirely mad," I smiled at him.

""First off, I am entirely mad and I most certainly can," he sat up, "think about it. Do you honestly think that I used to look forward to waking up every day?"

"Barty-"

"Do you think I saw joy in…anything before you came around? Hermione, you gave me a new perspective. On everything. Furthermore, you inadvertently gave me a purpose. You gave me focus. The time we've had? It's honestly been the best memories of my life."

"I tried to kill you!"

"Yeah, but you didn't. I don't believe in fate, but I think there's a reason for that."

I said nothing, but swallowed hard.

"Barty, that's a lot of pressure to put on me. I can't…I can't do this forever."

Barty's face fell a little, but he kept a weak smile.

"I know. I don't expect you to. You've got your students and your work to think of. I know there is going to be a day when I may not see you for a long time…if I ever see you again," he lifted his hand to my cheek. I didn't flinch. He wiped away a tear I had been previously ignoring.

"Barty, please. Half the time I was yelling at you and making you remember horrid things."

"You have been making me feel more alive than I have in ages, Hermione. We were just talking before about how I don't have any happy memories. Every memory I have is tied to something entirely tragic. Worse yet, I have nothing to look forward to. Think, Hermione. Even if nothing ever happens to me for the rest of my life, I will always have this time with you."

I smiled and lifted my hand to rest over the one he had on my cheek.

"You're going to have that bruise for a while, you know," I said, nodding towards the purple mark on his chin.

His eyes dropped and he looked as though he were about to cry. Instead he took in a ragged breath and nodded.

"Yeah," he said, his voice hoarse, "I will."

We both knew he didn't mean the abrasion on his jaw. The tension became so thick and whatever I did or said next would hurt him.

"Right, so…I'm sorry Draco did that. He seems to think you're worse than his father."

"I heard him," Barty said, angry, dropping his hand from my cheek. It rested, instead, on my leg.

"You…you didn't—" I began, disturbed by Draco's comments.

"Of course not," he cut me off, "I told you. Voldemort made me watch."

"I cannot imagine having to witness that."

"I hope you never have to."

There was another moment of silence before I decided that I had to leave immediately. There was too much. I wasn't even sure what there was too much of, but I could feel it.

"I should go," I said, standing. He followed me up quickly, grabbing my arm lightly.

"Hermione, wait," he nearly whispered, "don't…leave. Don't."

"Barty, I can't very well stay here."

"Why not?"

I fought for an answer, my eyes looking around the room.

"I wouldn't want to get in the way of you reading your new book."

"I wouldn't want anything more than to have you here while I do."

"That sounds dull," I tried but he laughed, loudly at that.

"That's very rich coming from Hermione Granger."

"All right, that's fair enough," I laughed.

"Draco still knows where you live. It might not be safe to go back home just yet."

"Barty, are you asking me to…to stay the night?"

"Yes, I am."

There was another pause and he assessed my panic.

"No terrible motives here. I'm not trying to seduce you."

"I should hope not."

"I really don't have to try anyways," he smirked at me and I nudged his chest.

"Stop that."

"What? Telling the truth?" He stepped forward into my space, mimicking how we'd been earlier, so very close to one another, his chest inches away, "you were going to let me kiss you."

I couldn't answer him. My skin was on fire and I could feel the blood rushing through my veins. He was getting closer, his face moving so it was inches from mine.

"I was," I finally confirmed.

"And now? Would you let me?" he asked with bravado, but I could hear the timid nervousness in his voice.

I thought about how it hadn't even been two weeks of our association. I thought about how I had been so adamant of his guilt. I thought about the horrible things he'd done. I thought about the lunatic that had tricked my best friend into thinking he had a mentor. I thought about how he'd been the one to bring Voldemort back.

Even as I thought, it sounded like a dead horse in my head and I was beating it with a mace until I hit the ground.

"Yes."

Barty inhaled sharply, shock and joy playing over his features before he didn't want to let me have the chance to change my mind.

He wasn't my first kiss, and usually first kisses were all the same, so I expected it to be as well; a simple press of lips, too short to record any real sensation other than the sheer electricity that came with kissing someone. Barty did not kiss me like anyone had. He kissed me for much longer than I'd ever been kissed, more than ten seconds for certain, before he moved back only to tilt his head fractionally and kiss me again. His hands slid and gripped both my arms before sliding over my back and bringing our bodies together.

It was absolutely wonderful.

_I've never been kissed like this in my life._

A wave of guilt crashed over me, the single, stray thought making its way into my head. I broke away from him, feigning the need to breathe.

I tried to go back to that thought, figure out what I'd even meant, and the result was terrifying.

Barty was in love with me. He had to be. Between his words and his lips, there was an unspoken confession and I could feel it in my heart with every soft sigh.

"Barty, I….I need to go."

"But—"

"I'll be back," I promised, "I just think I need to clear my head a little."

Barty smirked against my lips.

"I understand."

His hand snuck up behind my neck to tilt my lips towards his again and I nearly whimpered. It had been too long since I'd properly kissed anyone (Draco definitely not counting in my head) and it felt amazing.

I swiftly ignored the part of my mind that insisted that it being Barty had something to do with it.

"Ah!" he said and moved away. I tried not to giggle.

"Jaw?"

"Yeah," he laughed as well, "of course I would kiss you and it'd hurt."

"Eh, better than me killing you."

"Loads," he agreed and kissed me once more. I moved away with a smile.

"Best start reading," I said, "refresh your memory."

He grinned, and I took in his face for the first time. Barty looked ten years younger, inspired, and as though someone had poured light over his features.

He looked happy. It was odd on him, but I realized that I liked it.

"I'll read it twice before you return."

"Doubt that," I teased.

"Hermione," he said, just as I made to close the door, "I…thank you," he said. I smiled back at him.

"No," I said quietly, "thank you."


	18. Chapter 18

_**And so it continues and we come to the whole point of this. Here is the beginning…of the end.**_

_**Relax, we got a few more chapters to go ;)**_

_**Thank you sincerely. Without your reviews and comments, this piece might never be given any attention. But you are so loyal to it that it drives me to continue and edit it constantly to make it the best for you. I appreciate every person who takes the time to read this. I hope I never disappoint. You are all fantastic!**_

"Hermione," Luna greeted, "I didn't expect to see you back so soon."

"Didn't you?" I asked as she invited me in, "Draco is still watching my house."

"That is true, but I expected Barty would shield you."

"Shield me?" I asked, watching as Luna preemptively poured tea for us.

"Yes. I suspected he would offer for you to stay with him eventually. What better excuse would he have than to protect you from Draco Malfoy?"

I groaned, flopping down on the couch.

"I _don't_ need _shielding_ from Draco Malfoy," I insisted to her, "I can handle myself."

"And yet here you are," Luna pointed out.

"Better safe than sorry," I said meekly into my tea.

"I hope you'll be staying long enough to see Harry."

"I don't see why not. I do miss him. A lot."

"And he misses you. Though, he is very worried about your trips to Azkaban."

I sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the sofa, and looked at Luna.

"How does he know about that?"

"That would be my doing, though entirely by accident. Have you ever heard of fortune cookies?"

Remembering who I was talking to, I stifled a laugh.

"They're a Muggle thing. Little treats at the end of Chinese meals."

"Did you know the Wizarding World has something similar?"

"No, I didn't."

Luna stood up, moving over to a cupboard and pulling out a basket. She set it down in front of me on the table. There were at least a dozen regular looking fortune cookies in there.

"A long time ago, the Wizarding World discovered a wizard from China who ran his own restaurant for Muggles and Wizards alike. He was called Steve."

I blinked a few times at her.

"Steve?"

"Yes. What?"

"This was a Chinese man called Steve?"

"Yes."

I tried not to laugh.

"Okay, carry on."

"The food was all right, so I hear, but people came from all around once they read the fortune cookies."

"What's special about them?"

"First off, the fortune isn't a piece of paper inside. Once picked up by the person intending to eat it, the secret is burned into the side in Chinese. Once eaten, the knowledge of the secret is read aloud to you by Steve himself in your native tongue. It was the type of secrets, however, that got people's attention."

"How so?"

"They were very specific."

"Meaning?"

Luna looked down at the basket. I didn't miss the implication. I picked up one of the fortune cookies and unwrapped it. Something like a ghostly gasp emanated from it and once I touched it with my fingertips, sure enough, writing burned into the side. I held it for a moment before looking back up at Luna.

"Now you eat it."

I hesitated for only a moment before popping it into my mouth.

_Hermione Granger, you will become the Head of Gryffindor House. Expect this announcement soon._

Nearly choking I sat back.

"How in the world—"

"The fortunes are attuned to you specifically," Luna explained, "and they never lie."

"Never?"

"All fortunes have become truths."

"All of them?"

"Every one," Luna picked up a cookie, examining it, "they were outlawed, after a while. Steve limited it to one cookie per meal, but some people would go three times a day. They would eat the cookies over and over, learning about their future, the lives of others, the secrets being kept from them, and some even learned how they would die."

"I can see why that's a bit not good."

"The Ministry of Magic stepped in and took the cookies away, destroying them. But Steve escaped conviction, as he wasn't technically doing anything unlawful."

"How come I haven't heard of these cookies before?"

"The Ministry had the records of the Misfortune Cookies erased."

"Clever," I commented. I stared at the basket, "how did you get your hands on so many?"

"When my father told me the story, it was in the form of 'your great-great-great-great grandfather'."

"Ah…so these are passed down?"

"Yes. There is a spell so that there are always twelve in this basket. Father considers it dangerous to have access to them, and so he gave it to me. I have no real need to know anything they tell me."

"And here I thought I'd been told the source of all your powers."

Luna smiled softly.

"Only sometimes."

"So…they tell secrets being kept?"

"Indeed."

"And so that's how Harry knows I've been going to Azkaban more."

"He discovered it when we each ate one for our anniversary. He was put out, but he believes you have a reason beyond his grasp. He always has considered you to be the smartest person he's ever known."

I smiled meekly.

"What did yours say?"

"Oh, that the Kalizar plant is plotting to strangle me. Nasty thing. I should have known better than to take a plant offered to me by Hagrid.

In this instance, it seemed perfectly all right to laugh. Luna even joined me.

"I'll go make us some tea," she said and then stood up, leaving me and the cookies on the table.

There was the briefest of debates in my head.

Draco was hiding something from me. That much I knew. If I ate another cookie, I might know what it was and have the upper hand.

Or I could learn how I was to die.

But they also told the future. It would be nice to know what else was in store for me, considering I was already pretty pleased with becoming the Gryffindor Head of House.

The negatives were too little in number to outweigh all the possibilities I saw in front of me.

I quickly snatched up another one. I tore open the wrapper and held it only a moment before eating it.

_Hermione Granger, you will free Barty Crouch Jr from Azkaban._

"I'll do what?" I exclaimed, my mouth still full.

"I expected you'd have to have at least one more," Luna said, reentering the room with tea floating beside her.

"It said I was going to free Barty!"

"Did it? How wonderful," she replied airily, sitting down and watching the tea as it gently set itself on the table.

"Wonderful! I can't free Barty from Azkaban!"

"It appears you can and that you're going to."

"That's impossible!"

"The opposite, it seems. Did it say when?"

"Well…no."

"Then you needn't worry. It could be years from now, you know."

I picked up the tea in my hand, watching as it swirled and became a shade lighter, fixing itself to my preference.

"There was a tone that suggested that it's…not a far off fortune."

"That gut-feeling, yes," Luna acknowledged, "that happens at times."

"Luna, I can't free Barty Crouch Jr."

"No matter how many times you say it, you know, the Misfortune cookies never lie and they are never false."

My hands felt cold, my fingertips like ice.

"Perhaps you should sleep. You seem knackered."

"Yeah, I am."

"Rest. Harry will be so happy to see you. Rest now and sleep."

I looked at the tea.

"Did you drug me again?"

"Of course," Luna said flippantly, "I need you to sleep and think carefully. Tomorrow, you're going to tell Harry about what should happen to Azkaban."

"I…don't have any opinions on that."

"Yes, you do," Luna nodded, "you just haven't thought about it. When you wake tomorrow, your mind will be refreshed and I want you to think heavily on that subject."

"Why would I do that?"

Luna only gave me a smile before I was lying on the sofa with a blanket draped over me, dozing off into a dreamless sleep.

Luna was right, of course. Harry was thrilled to see me.

"Hermione!" He greeted as soon as he was through the door. He embraced me hard, squeezing me tightly, and smiled. I loved his smile, and it was even reaching his eyes.

"This is the most I've seen you in ages, you realize? Two times in a month?"

"Yeah," I agreed, "which I think is a shame."

"Me too. Sit! Have breakfast with me."

"Are you just getting in?" I asked. He looked exhausted.

"Yeah, well, that's work at the Ministry for you," he said, sitting down and picking up a cup of tea, already lovingly prepared for him. Luna hovered over him, smiling. He stroked her cheek and she sighed. My heart ached slightly.

"You do get a day off, occasionally, right?"

"Oh, of course. They don't run me too hard. Just been a lot of activity lately."

"How do you mean?"

"Draco," he explained, "he started this education reform at Hogwarts and now everyone wants to do it."

"So what's the problem with that?"

Harry adjusted himself in his seat and smiled at the eggs and bacon placed in front of him.

"Well, there's been a few…issues."

"Issues?"

"With all the political aspects and specifics of this education, we need Draco to write out exactly what he wants to change. So he did, and it seems entirely legitimate."

"But?"

"But there are some older voices that don't want to teach children about it."

"Why wouldn't they want to do that?"

"Simple; they figure if you teach a child how to defend themselves from Dark Arts, they'll be scared and worried."

"What, these people think that, because there isn't a current threat that there might not be another one?"

"That and they also don't want kids getting inquisitive."

"Kids will know better than to look into the Dark Arts."

"Hermione, I was breaking into the Restricted Section my first year."

"That was different!"

"Maybe, but the point stands to them. I think it's silly. Children should know how to defend themselves from the Dark Arts. We don't want to raise a generation without that knowledge. I do hope it will never need to be applicable, but there is always darkness somewhere and I would prefer it if we were all prepared just in case."

"So it's all political babble."

"Yes, and it's all the Ministry has to focus on right now, so it's all they debate about."

"Harry," Luna interjected, "do you think if the Ministry had some other issues to focus on, you might be able to slip the Education reform by quietly?"

Harry looked at Luna so fondly it hurt.

"That's very Slytherin of you to think of."

"Merely a hypothetical question."

Stabbing into his eggs, Harry thought while he chewed. I had missed that look.

"I think it would. If we passed it soon enough, we could get the Education Reform enacted before the start of the new school year and, by then, those opposed wouldn't have the time to naysay it."

"What if someone started a motion to release the soulless bodies from Azkaban?"

I bit my lip. This was why she'd brought it up; why she'd wanted me to think on it so much.

"Does anyone have a problem with how they're treated currently?"

"No, but Hermione and I believe that if the public were made aware of how Azkaban is failing, they might have more concerns on both the state of soulless bodies as well as the prison itself."

"What's wrong with the prison?" Harry asked and Luna looked at me to answer. I took a deep breath.

"Have you ever seen the workings of the prison?"

"I don't know," Harry said, "I think that's something you might know more about."

This conversation wasn't likely to be any good. I sat back and kept my head down.

"I told Hermione last night that she should think about ways to remake Azkaban. I think, while that hasn't been her focus on going, she has opinions on it she should share with you."

"Thanks, Luna," I muttered.

"Hermione," she pushed, "think of Malfoy."

I looked up at her and then sighed.

"All right. This isn't…a final plan. It's just my thoughts on it."

"By all means," Harry waved his hand, "let's hear it." I took a deep breath for the thousandth time that day and spoke.

"Azkaban is a terrible place, but it's a worse prison. I have been successfully sneaking in for nearly two weeks and was only caught once. This is due to the fact that dementors primarily serve as security. The dementors are untrustworthy, something revealed during the War and yet not dealt with. I believe that Azkaban should become run by manpower alone and in every wing. Dementors should be kept somewhere else where they can be of no harm to anyone. I believe that using them as punishment is also entirely savage and uncivilized and should be a condemned practice. Furthermore, all the soulless bodies should be…dealt with in a humane manner and given to their families."

"Dealt with?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"A soulless body has no hope of getting its soul returned," I explained, "their lives are over. They should not be forced to keep living, especially not in a cell."

"You think we should kill them?"

"To put it harshly. But their bodies would be given to their families."

"And those without families?"

"Buried on the grounds, but at peace."

"So Azkaban…"

"Would be more like a Muggle prison than anything, but with spells and enchantments to keep the prisoners in there safely."

Harry seemed to think about it. He leaned back and looked at me.

"You can get in," he said, "but can anyone get out? Because that is the primary concern here."

"Perhaps, if this motion were to come to the Ministry, that could be something Hermione proves could be done."

"I could do what?" I turned towards Luna.

"You could free someone from Azkaban and bring them to a hearing. It would prove your point and would no doubt get your motion passed."

"And just who," Harry looked at Luna, shocked, "would Hermione free from Azkaban?"

"Barty Crouch Jr, of course."

Of course.


	19. Chapter 19

_**Why hello there!**_

_**It's been a while, but here we are again! Gosh, I'm getting excited! **_

_**Your reviews have been amazing and incredible! Some of you have had questions (which BTW always question; I have the answer). One of the questions I've been asked repeatedly is answered IN THIS CHAPTER. For those of you concerned with me randomly stopping, know this: unless I expressly say otherwise, this is a "work in progress". **_

_**Frankly, no matter how many months may pass between updates, I have come much too far to abandon this fic. And that'd be silly anyways.**_

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Harry looked over at Luna.

"Barty Crouch Jr?"

"Naturally."

Harry chuckled slightly.

"Now, that would be a sight. Hermione dragging a soulless body across the grounds of Azkaban prison. Very subtle, indeed. Doubt that would raise any alarm at all."

I bit my bottom lip and took a deep breath in, blowing it out a bit comically.

"I thought you didn't want him to know about it."

"Perhaps not," Luna replied airily, "but the world has somewhat realigned and I think it's better that he knows now."

"Course it has," I mumbled and Harry looked between the two of us.

"An explanation at any time would be greatly appreciated, I think."

I sighed and twined my fingers together. I never liked keeping secrets from Harry. Harry had always kept so much from me and Ron when we were kids, most of them dark secrets he thought we didn't need to know. Perhaps he was right to do that, but I had decided I would never do that to him and since I'd begun visiting Barty, I'd been breaking that self-mandated law. It ended now.

"Barty Crouch Jr is alive. Has been all these years. The Minster stopped the dementor from taking soul so they could torture him for information. He's been rotting in a cell from ages now."

Harry held up a hand, a gesture that, from anyone else, would have earned a glare from me. But this was Harry. He wiped his mouth with his hand.

"Is this the part where you tell me this is where you've been all this time?"

I nodded slowly.

"So this wasn't about Lucius Malfoy?"

"I've been in to see him too," I tried.

"Oh, I know. Draco's been bothering me about it."

"What?"

"He told me you were making regular visits to his father and he wanted to know why. I told him I'd try to find out after the Education debate, but he's been insistent."

Another point against Draco.

"You know, I talked to him. Recently," I said. _Yesterday_, my brain reminded me, "and for a man keeping tabs on me, he knows very little about anyone else."

"How do you mean?"

"He thinks Neville married Ginny."

Harry snorted and Luna giggled politely.

"Well, then he doesn't follow Quidditch."

"That's not good, considering he'll be working with Neville soon as well," Luna pointed out.

"Right. I think Cho would be very put out."

"She's going to keep her last name," Harry said and then froze, "Hermione, you clever thing."

"What?"

"You nearly made me forget that you just casually informed me you've been visiting Barty Crouch Jr, who is very much alive."

I went a little pale.

"You distracted yourself."

"You let me."

"Come now, let's talk this out," Luna insisted.

"Fine," Harry said and sat back, arms crossed, "tell me all about him."

I opened my mouth to speak, but Luna cut me off.

"Harry, I think if Hermione began to tell you all she's learned, you wouldn't be open to empathizing with her."

"Luna, give me a chance here," I insisted. She nodded. I turned to Harry and sighed.

"Harry, I went to Azkaban to kill him."

The pain that flashed in Harry's eyes was tremendous.

"Hermione, why? You're better than that."

"You can say that, if you like, but it was for all the same reasons you're thinking of now. All the bad things he's done. He started all of it. He single-handedly brought Voldemort to power, yes, yes I can _assure _you that those facts have played like a mantra in my head more than you can possibly imagine. I keep it in my head. But Harry? That man who did all of those things? I was prepared to kill him."

"I wouldn't want you to do that."

"I wouldn't want you to either," I replied, "and especially not now. Harry, I don't know how to explain to you just what I've learned, but the man in that cell is not the monster who did all of those things."

"And you think he's served his time? And you want to free him?"

I surprised myself with my answer.

"No."

I apparently surprised both of them with my answer.

"No?" They repeated back to me. It took me a second to gather my thoughts.

"I…no, no I don't think I want to free him. Not yet. I mean, he is different. I think he'd be perfectly wonderful if he was free. I think he would find somewhere out in the country. He seems to like the outdoors. And he's missed the sun. I think he'd stay quiet. Live a peaceful life. Maybe snap his wand in two and go into teaching something with Muggles. But…I don't think he should be set free yet."

Luna cocked her head to the side.

"Does he know you feel this way?"

"Not…directly, no. I've never been asked that and we've never discussed it, but that cookie yesterday—"

"Luna!" Harry groaned and she smirked.

"Sorry, sweetie," she said and he rolled his eyes.

"Family secret, my left arse cheek."

My heart panged; that had been one of Ron's favorite sayings. Harry and I shared a look.

"The cookie said I was going to free him from Azkaban. When I thought it meant…freeing him, I didn't like the idea. I have his background now, crucial and critical memories that have haunted him. He didn't have the best life. At all. But his choices were his own and, while I am sympathetic and think he deserves a second chance, I don't think it should be any time soon."

Luna smiled at me and I blushed a little and continued on.

"But when Luna brought that up, I think the cookie was predicting I might free him to prove the point: that the prison isn't safe. And it isn't. I can sneak in any time I want. Barty sent his patronus to me once and—"

"What is his patronus?"

I blinked for a second at the random question and shook my head to remember.

"It's a…badger."

Luna looked incredibly sad.

"What?"

"A badger…the sign of a Hufflepuff to most."

"To most?"

"He was put in Slytherin," Harry said.

"But he was offered a choice of all of them."

"He chose Slytherin, you think?"

"I think, if Barty had been in Hufflepuff, he would have been all right," Luna mused and I clung to her every word, "the kind hearted, the ones who love and protect fiercely; it would have shown Barty the lighter side of the world. The better side. But he was already so lost that Slytherin was where he would succeed most, in his mind. The badger is a sign, a sign that he knows he missed the opportunity to better himself and has missed every opportunity since. That, or his mother's patronus was a badger."

I let out a short gasp.

"How did you know about his mother?"

"You're not the only one who heard the story of how he escaped. I would expect her sacrifice left an impression."

I sat back and chewed on my lip.

"I think it might be a little of both."

Harry ran a hand through his hair.

"I want to see him."

My head jerked toward him, eyes wide.

"I don't know if that's wise."

"Hermione, if he really is a changed man, there should be absolutely no reason for you to worry."

"He is changed," I defended, "he wants a new start, he does! He's apologetic and he's empathetic and he knows what he's done, but he just…you…"

"If you want me to even think about letting you see him again, you'll take me with you."

"Let me?" I shrieked, "Harry Potter, you have no say in what I do!"

"I damn well should! You've got no one, Hermione! You haven't looked at a single person since Ron died! You have no one you talk to on a regular basis. You go to school, you teach, and then retire to your quarters. You aren't living! You aren't talking to people! You need someone to look out for you because I left you alone too long and now you're talking to a damn serial killer! Jesus, the first man you get close to brought back the Dark Lord! I'm gonna say something! If I don't, you're going to end up falling in love with him or some shit and I can't risk that."

I knew I wasn't in love with Barty. And perhaps he felt strongly for me, but I thought he might just have projected too much on me. Either way, it didn't stop me from trying to train my expression to one of indifference, one Harry did not miss.

"No…"

"No! I'm not in love with him! Not even close!"

"Hermione…for goodness sake…"

"No, Harry, I swear! I'm not in love with him!"

"Is that why you won't go out for coffee with Malfoy?"

"Excuse me?" I balked.

"He said you won't go out on a date with him. He thinks it's because you have feelings for someone else."

I let out a bark of a laugh and then a longer one.

"Oh my God! What is his deal? I won't go out with him because, for starters, he's associated with some of the worst memories of my schooling and…his house, if you recall."

Harry did recall.

"And second, maybe it's because he showed up at my flat unannounced, simply entered it because I didn't have wards, which I am seriously doubting, and put a tracker on my broom! He has been back to my flat enough times that he knows I haven't. Why would I go have coffee with him?"

Harry blinked a few times and rubbed his chin.

"All right, so that's justifiable."

"What is it?"

"What's what?"

"You've got a face on."

"No I haven't."

"Harry…"

"It's just…he's been making it out like he's just…being polite. And I know you, Hermione, but I could picture you being the way he was describing: cold, cut off, uninterested, not giving him a second glance. It's been you of late. I didn't question it too much."

I supposed he had a point.

"Well, he's playing the nice guy act, but don't let him fool you. I kissed him once, sort of in the heat of the moment. But he started getting strange and my gut wouldn't let me trust him and now I don't. So…ignore him."

"But is he right?"

"About what?"

"Do you have feelings for someone else?"

I opened my mouth to answer and nothing came out.

"I…don't know."

Harry put his face in his hands.

"Buggering fuck, Hermione."

It was ever so rare to hear Harry curse that way.

"Look, Harry, it's complicated. He's complicated. This whole situation is a mess."

"But," Luna piped up, "if you go see him, Harry, and you deem him safe, we can think about maybe using him to get Azkaban fixed up."

Harry ran his fingers over his eyes.

"And if this is all a ploy? If it's all a trick to be set free to kill again? If he knew this could come up?"

"He wouldn't. He's different."

"Do we find out the hard way that he's not?"

I stared at Harry and tried to think of what to do. I stood up.

"Come on. We're going to Azkaban."

When I opened the cell, Barty was sitting on his cot, eyes boring into the pages of The Hobbit. Harry followed close behind. He didn't look up, raising a finger.

"One second! Best bit in the book, this is. Dragons. I wish they were really like this. I'd keep one as a pet if they were."

I said nothing, just waited. But Barty's nostrils flared and he sniffed once and then looked up.

Something I did not expect was to see Barty's face go into one of absolute fear.

It was a risk, bringing Harry here. It was the biggest gamble I had ever made. I was putting a lot of bloody faith in Barty Crouch Jr. I had thought that seeing Harry could potentially trigger the mania inside of him, the monster that occasionally peeked his head. Harry had been his target for nearly a full school year. I was bracing myself for a snarl, a manic glare, bared teeth, and a rush to get at Harry's throat.

But Barty backed into the wall like a scared child.

"Hermione, what is he doing here?"

I was confused. He looked genuinely afraid.

"Relax, Barty. He just came to see for himself."

"Harry Potter," Barty said and I looked back at my friend and saw why Barty looked so terrified. There was so much anger and rage in those green eyes that I shrunk back myself.

"Harry, please," Barty was in the corner now, "please. Have mercy. I know you have every reason in the world to kill me, but I beg of you, don't. Don't please—"

Barty was making pleas for his life and I looked to Harry before I stepped between them and looked at Harry.

"Barty, shush," I said over my shoulder and looked at Harry, "Harry, think. You got sad when you knew I'd come here to kill him. You wanted better for me. I want the best for you. I'm trying to show you he isn't the same. Don't ruin that by holding your wand over his head like an axe, okay?"

Harry looked at me and gave me a short nod. I gave him one back and turned to Barty. I made a show of casually walking over to him and sitting next to him.

"Barty, show me where you're at."

He blinked a few times.

"I'm…right here."

"In the book!"

"Oh!" he said. He cast Harry a nervous glance.

"Barty, it's just me and you, all right? When Harry feels like speaking, he will. Why don't you show him what you can do?"

Barty's eyes went wide.

"Is that wise?"

I could understand why Barty wouldn't want to show Harry how much power he had. Then again, it could show Harry that Barty chose _not _to use it for terrible purposes.

"He takes his tea with a dash of sugar."

Barty took a deep breath and waved his hand. A chair, facing us, formed, as well as a table.

Harry was motionless as he stared at the furniture, stunned.

"Sit, Harry," I prompted. He moved forward slowly, cautiously sitting down. He looked at the tea.

"It's not poisoned," Barty offered and Harry glared. I doubted he'd drink it, but at least it was there.

"Now, book?"

"Well," Barty said and looked back down at it, "Bilbo's met Smaug . He's gone in the second time now. Smaug's peeved he took his cup. It's my favorite bit because of how they portray him, like he's some intelligent thing."

I recalled, fondly, Hagrid's attempt at raising a dragon. Harry and Ron had told me about it.

"Dragons aren't like this at all. But I loved it still. He just seems like a big puppy, rolling around and showing off."

"Amazing how much Smaug and Thorin are alike, isn't it?" I offered. Barty grinned at me.

"I'd never thought of it that way, but damned if you aren't completely right," Barty chuckled and tilted his head to the side, "what's your favorite book, then?"

Harry snorted and we both looked at him. He cleared his throat.

"Sorry, but you just asked Hermione Granger what her favorite book is."

I grinned and Barty and Harry actually shared a smile before Harry wiped it off his face. Barty still took the blessing.

"Yeah, I guess that is a stupid question."

"So," Harry said, "did you ever tell Hermione about licking my blood?"

I went still and so did Barty. This was not going to be fun at all.


End file.
